


Alpha Peter and the Ragtags

by Triangulum



Series: Alpha Peter and the Ragtags [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Good Peter, M/M, Tattoo Artist Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Derek has been one of Stiles' best friends for years, almost as long as Scott. They've been friends through Stiles' mom's death, and through Derek's ex trying to burn the Hales' house down. So Stiles only feels slightly badly for ogling Derek's hot uncle. He's covered in tattoos and easily the most attractive man Stiles has ever seen."Hello, Stiles," Peter says, his voice like silk."Peter?" Stiles stammers. "You're back.""Astute as ever," Peter says."Oh, fuck off," Stiles says. Peter just laughs.OrThe one where Peter is a tattoo artist and an alpha without a pack, and Stiles is college student and best friends with Derek. When Peter moves back from New York, there's immediately something between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Alpha Peter and the Ragtags (Traduccion)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906777) by [yuki_yuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuki_yuki/pseuds/yuki_yuki)



> Rating is for later chapters. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

Derek has been one of Stiles' best friends for years, almost as long as Scott. They've been friends through Stiles' mom's death, and through Derek's ex trying to burn the Hales' house down. So Stiles only feels slightly badly for ogling Derek's hot uncle.

Stiles hasn't seen Peter since the man packed up and left for college in New York, back when Stiles and Derek were kids and _wow_ did he grow up well. Stiles had just come over to the Hale house to drop off Derek's textbook for his biology course, and here is Peter, lounging in the living room like he hasn't been absent for the past 15 years. (Stiles never found out why Peter stayed in New York for all those years, but from what Derek has said, he think it has something to do with Talia and pack politics.)

Peter is broader and sturdier in the shoulders than Stiles remembers. His strong jawline and goatee...yep, check off two of Stiles' turn on boxes. And that thick neck and cocky smirk...fuck him sideways. And every inch of exposed skin is covered with tattoos, one even curling up the side of his neck and wow, Stiles has been staring for a while.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter says, his voice like silk.

"Peter?" Stiles stammers. "You're back."

"Astute as ever," Peter says.

"Oh, fuck off," Stiles says. Peter just laughs. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, this is my family home, you see," Peter says. 

"I thought you stay in New York because Talia doesn't want two alphas in Beacon Hills?" Stiles asks.

Peter actually looks surprised at that. Score one for Stiles.

"You know about us? For how long?" Peter asks, eyes flashing red. Stiles is man enough to admit that that sends a little thrill through him.

"Uh, since like fifth grade? You guys have never really been subtle," Stiles says. "Too many fangs."

"You always were the clever one," Peter says, standing and circling Stiles like the wolf he is. It gives Stiles a great view of the tattoo of what looked like a protection sigil on Peter's neck that disappears down under Peter's shirt and damn it, that's another box to check off. "To answer your question, my dear sister realized after the wendigo incident that having two alphas to defend the territory might be advantageous."

Stiles shudders at the memory of that bloody month.

"Why does it smell like arousal in here? Oh, gross," Derek says, walking in to see Peter still standing quite close to Stiles. 

"Now I know why Stiles never came up in conversation when you visited me," Peter purrs. "And here I'd assumed you'd had a falling out."

"No, I just know he's exactly your type," Derek says and wow, minute to process that please? Peter's face curls into a smirk. "No," Derek says. He takes the book from Stiles' hands and pulls him from the room. "Absolutely not. You are not having sex with my uncle."

"What?" Stiles yelps, face turning bright red. "I didn't - I wasn't - I didn't do anything!"

Derek shoos him out the front door, says, "You and Peter are enough trouble on your own, I don't want to know what happen if you two got together," and slams the door in Stiles' face. Rude.

Stiles texts Cora that night in his usual, subtle way.

To: Cora Snarls  
Tell me about Peter

_From: Cora Snarls  
Why?_

To: Cora Snarls  
Because I'm curious and you telling me would probably make Derek mad

_From: Cora Snarls  
Well, in that case, what do u want to know?_

To: Cora Snarls  
This is why you're my favorite. What's he going to do in Beacon Hills? It's not like we have a lot of corporate law offices 

_From: Cora Snarls  
He quit corporate law after like 2 years to open a tattoo shop_

To: Cora Snarls  
.........I can't tell if you're fucking with me or not

_From: Cora Snarls  
I'm not. Her rented that empty space that used to be a consignment shop or something on Main and is gonna set up shop_

To: Cora Snarls  
I have no words

_From: Cora Snarls  
That's a first _

To: Cora Snarls  
Bite me, baby Hale

_From: Cora Snarls  
I think you'd rather my uncle did_

To: Cora Snarls  
I hate you

_From: Cora Snarls  
No you don't_

No he doesn't. 

The next day, Stiles valiantly tries to talk himself out of driving by Peter's new shop and is successful for all of ten minutes. He's on summer break from college and has nothing to do, so sue him.

Cora had made it sound like Peter was going to throw some chairs in an call it good,but when Stiles gets there, the shop is a full-on construction zone. Two by fours, tools, and sheets of plywood are scattered everywhere. Stiles walks in and sees Peter with a sledgehammer over his shoulder, wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans. Stiles' mouth goes dry at the way the muscles play under the tattooed skin of Peter's arms.

"Cora isn't usually one for under exaggerating, but wow, not what I expected," Stiles says. 

"They don't expect much from me," Peter says. "I subscribe to the theory of working smarter, not harder, and apparently that translates to 'lazy'."

"It translates to being smart with your resources," Stiles says.

"I knew I liked you," Peter says. 

Stiles usually isn't a fan of manual labor, so he surprises himself when he says, "Need a hand?"

Peter looks at him calculatingly for a few long seconds before holding out the sledgehammer.

"I find smashing things to be quite therapeutic," Peter says.

Stiles thinks about his frustration with Scott, all but ignoring him all summer for Allison, and says, "Done."

"Hit the drywall only, not the studs," Peter says.

Stiles misses the way Peter's eyes rove over him as he slips off his plaid over shirt. Stiles nods and hefts the sledgehammer up, almost knocking himself over with the first swing. Peter chuckles and comes up behind Stiles, slipping his thick, tattooed arms over Stiles'. 

"Lift like this," Peter says, guiding Stiles' arms. "Then swing forward like this. It gives you more power, is less likely to injure you, and you have more control over where you're hitting."

Peter's voice is right in his ear and there's no way he doesn't feel the full-body shudder that runs through Stiles. Peter pulls away, hands trailing over Stiles' skin, to grab a second sledgehammer and start work further down the wall. If Stiles stares at his ass, that's his own business.

By the time they're done knocking down the wall, Stiles is sweaty, disgusting, and more sore than he's ever been. He flops down on the ground, uncaring of the drywall dust covering him.

"Ow," he says, staring at the bare ceiling. "I know this is supposed to be good for you, but at what cost?"

"Increased stamina and muscle mass aren't perks enough?" Peter asks, peering down at Stiles.

"I'm _lithe_ , okay, and my stamina is just fine, thanks," Stiles says. Peter snorts. 

"Would you feel better if I told you I ordered pizza?" Peter asks.

"Yessss," Stiles says. "I'm surprised you eat pizza with all that." Stiles motions a hand up and down Peter's body while he talks. 

"Werewolf," Peter says. "And I'm not one to deny myself life's simple pleasures."

"Yeah, pleasures are...good...oh, here's the pizza guy!"

The pizza guy turns out to be Boyd, a man Stiles, Derek, and Scott had gone to high school with. A bit of a loner, but he and Stiles had gotten on well enough.

"Looking good, Stilinski," Boyd says dryly as Stiles wipes sweat and drywall dust from his red face.

"Oozing sex appeal," Stiles says. "How's it going, man?"

"Living the minimum wage dream," Boyd says while Peter signs his receipt. "Have a good night, guys."

They eat in relative silence, each periodically taking a swing from the two liter of root beer Peter had ordered. Stiles wonders if Peter likes it, or if he remembers that it's Stiles' favorite.

"Do you have Boyd's phone number?" Peter asks out of the blue.

Stiles chokes on his pizza. Peter thumps him on the back until he's done coughing.

"I didn't know you like guys," Stiles says, voice still a little rough.

"He's not my type," Peter says with an eye roll. 

"Does that mean you _do_ like guys?" Stiles asks.

"I've had male lovers," Peter says. His eyes narrow. "Is that a problem, Stiles?"

"What? No! I have too! Boyfriends, I mean, not lovers because I'm not like forty. I've dated guys, I just didn't you _you_ did," Stiles stammers, then just gives up. "No, I don't have Boyd's number, why?"

Luckily, Peter looks amused instead of offended. He taps the top of the pizza box and Stiles just looks at him, confused.

"The drawing," Peter clarifies.

"Oh," Stiles says. The picture on the box is beautifully detailed, depicting the Italian countryside with a little restaurant in the foreground. In the corner is the signature V. Boyd. "Yeah, Boyd drew a lot when we were in high school. We had art together and Boyd's stuff wiped the floor with everyone else's."

"Hm," Peter says,

"Why?" Stiles asks again.

"I was hoping to take on an apprentice," Peter says. "What do you know about him?"

"Uh, strong and silent type, Good in school. He got into a bunch of different colleges, but his family is kind of poor, so he stayed home to help them out," Stiles says. "His little sister went missing when they were out as kids and I don't think he ever really stopped blaming himself."

Peter hums again, tracing over the pizza box picture's lines.

"I don't think he'd take an unpaid apprenticeship," Stiles says. "I'm pretty sure he's kinda struggling as it is."

"I don't believe in unpaid internships or apprenticeships," Peter says. "It's a way to keep the poor out of good positions because only the kids from rich families can afford to work for free. No, if you're working, you should be paid."

"I can see why corporate law didn't work for you," Stiles says.

It's dark by the time Stiles leaves, feeling very accomplished but also a bit like a limp noodle. He's showered and about to fall asleep when he gets a text. Groaning, he checks his phone and lo and behold, it's Derek.

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
Why does Peter smell like you?_

Of course his wolfy nose would pick up on that

To: Derek Eyebrows  
I helped him demo the shop

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
How do you even know about the shop?_

To: Derek Eyebrows  
Cora

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
Traitor_

To: Derek Eyebrows  
Does it really bother you? I'm not going to try to sleep with him or anything, dude. He's just a cool guy to hang out with and turns out smashing up a building is a good distraction

There's radio silence for a few minutes and Stiles starts to worry that Derek is actually upset with him and he starts to panic. Derek is his best friend, of course he'd stop. He'd never talk to Peter again if it made Derek upset. Before he can work himself into a full-blown panic attack, Derek texts back.

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
I'm not mad, Stiles. Just be careful, okay? He has a reputation_

Stiles is tired of telling him that he isn't trying to fuck Peter, so he just sends _10-4, roger that_ before rolling over and falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, despite his good intentions, Stiles ends up at Peter's shop again. This time, he has sandwiches and Gatorade with him. Peter's wearing a ribbed tank and Stiles valiantly tries to tone down his reaction, knowing Peter can smell exactly what it does to him. It's not his fault, okay? Those strong, thick arms are corded with muscles and covered with complete sleeves.

"I tracked down Boyd," Peter says while they eat. "He accepted the job."

"Really?" Stiles asks. He doesn't know why he's surprised, but he kind of is.

"He says he needs to put in his two weeks' notice, which is fine. The shop probably won't be done until then anyway," Peter says. 

That's good, Stiles thinks. Boyd deserves something good in his life. And Peter could probably do well to spend time with people that aren't Hales.

Stiles stays to help again and they spend the afternoon knocking down the last wall.They're both sweaty by the end of it, Stiles feeling gross with his wet shirt clinging to his skin.

"I suggest air conditioning," Stiles says, fanning his flushed face. Peter, of course, just looks as unflappable as ever. The dick.

"I actually have an electrician and a plumber coming tomorrow. I'd rather get water and wiring done before I finish anything else," Peter says.

"That's what all the HGTV shows say," Stiles says Peter looks highly amused. "I like Property Brothers, so sue me."

"Anyway, I'll have the HVAC contractor come in after the plumber and electrician are done," Peter says. "Want to come to the hardware store tomorrow?"

The change of topic is too fast for Stiles and all he can say is, "Huh?"

"I need paint samples," Peter says. "And I want to take you to lunch to thank you for your help."

"Oh, yeah I'm free tomorrow," Stiles says. "You don't have to buy me lunch, though."

"I don't have to, but I'm going to," Peter says. "I'll pick you up at 10:00."

It's not until Stiles get homes that he realizes he never gave Peter his address. He contemplates asking Derek or Cora to give it to Peter when a texts comes in from Cora.

_From: Cora Snarls  
I think Peter took your number from Derek's phone, be advised._

To: Cora Snarls  
10-4 ghostrider

_From: Cora Snarls  
Why is my uncle stealing your phone number?_

To: Cora Snarls  
We're going to the hardware store

_From: Cora Snarls  
Once again, why?_

To: Cora Snarls  
What's with the Hale interrogation? I've helped him with the shop and he wants advice on paint colors, okay?

_From: Cora Snarls  
Don't get snippy w/ me. It's a valid question_

To: Cora Snarls  
Sorry

Stiles isn't sorry at all, especially a second later when he gets a text from an unknown number.

_From: +15553908175  
Do you still live on 5th and Cedar?_

To: +15553908175  
If this is Peter, yes. If this is not Peter, go away.

_From: +15553908175  
This is Peter_

To: Peter Hale  
Yeah I figured. Cora warned me.

_From: Peter Hale  
She is a sneak like that. I'll see you tomorrow._

To: Peter Hale  
See you then

Stiles grins before setting down his phone and getting ready for bed. He doesn't sleep well that night, which happens a lot since the wendigo incident, so he wakes up late, which means he showers late, and is barely ready when Peter knocks on the front door.

"Hey," Stiles says, a little out of breath. "I just have to put on shoes."

Peter follows him in, looking at Stiles curiously.

"Are you all right?" Peter asks.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles asks, hopping into one shoe. Peter puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"You look tired," Peter says.

"Gee, thanks, you Hales and your compliments," Stiles says, straightening up.

"I just meant that it seems like you didn't sleep well," Peter says.

"I didn't," Stiles says. "Let's go."

Peter doesn't say anything else about it, but he does stop for coffee, and Stiles catches Peter giving him strange looks. Stiles ignores him in favor of inhaling the sweet aroma of his coffee.

They bypass Home Depot and drive a little further to go to the little mom and pop hardware store on the other end of Beacon Hills. 

"Small businesses are the backbone of America," Stiles comments as they walk in.

"That, and Harold and Maude are old family friends," Peter says.

"Are they?...You know..." Stiles mimes fangs with his fingers. Peter rolls his eyes.

"No, they were on city council with my parents."

"Peter!" 

Stiles looks around to see an older woman nearly crash into Peter with the force of her hug.

"Hello, Maude," Peter says, hugging her back as if he hadn't been in for supplies three days ago.

"So big and strong!" she says, smacking Peter on the chest. Stiles chokes down a laugh. "And who's your friend?"

"This is Stiles. He's been helping me with the shop for the past few days," Peter says.

"Oh, good! You take on too much, you always have!" Maude says. "Well, you kids holler if you need any help."

"We will," Peter says.

Stiles snickers while he follows Peter to the paint section.

"You're friends with old people," Stiles coos. "Oh my god, this is so cute."

"Cute is not a word usually associated with me," Peter says dryly. 

"Cute little fluffy bunny!"

Peter bares his teeth and flashes his eyes red. Stiles' heart jumps, heat clawing low in his body. Peter smirks and looks back at the paint samples. Smug bastard.

They end up with a dozen paint samples, overkill, in Stiles' opinion, to try out once they get the drywall up. Which, Stiles doesn't know why he's added himself to the project of fixing up the shop, but Stiles likes projects, so whatever.

They end up at a Chinese restaurant, a little hole in the wall place that Stiles has never even noticed. Peter orders for them in a language Stiles doesn't understand, and his jaw drops.

"I didn't know you speak Chinese," Stiles says when the waiter walks away.

"Mandarin, actually," Peter says. "I spent a lot of time in Asia after college."

"Do you speak anything else?" Stiles asks.

"Thai, Malaysian, Japanese. Enough Korean to get by," Peter says. 

Stiles stares.

"That...is a lot. Cora barely manages English some days," Stiles says.

"I had to one-up Talia, and it spun out of control a bit. Talia speaks Italian and Spanish. She tired to teach the kids but only Laura was interested," Peter says. "She takes more after Talia than the others."

"Is that why Laura's her favorite?" Stiles asks.

"Talia doesn't play favorites with her children," Peter says, like he reading from a script. "But yes."

Lunch is...nice. Peter's snarky sarcasm matches Stiles' own, and he seems genuinely interested in what Stiles has to say. Stiles can't remember the last time someone talked to him without a single polite but disinterested head bob. They have a ten minute conversation about ancient Roman sex practices, though that particular discussions leaves Stiles a bit hot under the collar. By Peter's smirk, he knows it too. The asshole. 

The electrician and plumber are both finishing up when they get back to the shop. Peter tips them both handsomely, then he and Stiles are alone.

"So," Stiles says. "You have AC now?"

“Yes,” Peter says. “But it’s staying off.”

“What? Why?” Stiles whines.

“All it will do now is circulate drywall dust,” Peter says. “Until that’s done, sweating is in. Still want to help?”

Stiles grumbles, but rolls his sleeves up, ready to help Peter install the drywall.

It ends up taking them two more days to install all the drywall. Stiles suspects it should have taken longer, but they were helped along by Peter’s werewolf strength. Peter won’t let Stiles put the AC on when they’re priming either, claiming it’ll make it dry unevenly. Stiles calls him a sadist, but Peter knows more about this than he does, so he doesn’t argue too much.

After priming is done, they paint a big splotch of each of the paint samples they’d bought. They eliminate the white, pale grey, and black right away as being too boring or too dark, leaving them with a royal purple, deep blue, and dark grey.

“Grey goes with more,” Stiles muses. “And with the white trim, it would look really sleek and clean, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“True. It’s not very exciting though, is it?” Peter says. “Art will be going up on the walls, though.”

“Is whatever you’re going to put up going to clash with the blue or purple?”

Peter just hums.

They stare at the wall for long enough that the sun starts to shine in through the front window, hitting the wall.

“Oh god, not the blue,” Stiles says.

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees.

“Why does it look green? How does that even happen?” Stiles asks.

They eventually decide on the best of both worlds, picking the grey with a royal purple accent wall. It’ll look beautiful with the molding Peter chose. Stiles briefly laments not going to school for interior design, because this shit is _fun_.

Stiles misses the first day of painting, wanting to spend time with his dad on one of his rare days off, then Derek and Scott come over for a video game marathon that lasts until 3:00 a.m. when they all pass out in various places throughout the Stilinski living room. Stiles enjoys it, as he always does, but he finds himself missing Peter’s company. Stiles loves Derek and Scott, but they can’t always keep up with the weird leaps his brain makes. Peter can, or at least is very good at faking it. It feels good, like he isn’t holding any of himself back.

Stiles had nightmares again that night and wakes to Derek and Scott looking down at him with worried looks. Stiles bats away their hands and sits up.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says. “I’m fine, it’s not a big deal.”

“Since when do you have dreams like that?” Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. Scott doesn’t know about the supernatural, so it’s not like Stiles can say, ‘Oh, since the wendigo attack last month’. Derek knows, though, and looks concerned.

“Seriously, it’s fine. I don’t even remember what it was about,” Stiles says. Derek wrinkles his nose at the lie. “Who wants breakfast?”

Derek and Scott hover like two obnoxious mother hens, so Stiles doesn’t make it out of the house until after 2:00 p.m. Peter doesn’t ask questions, merely raises an eyebrow at Stiles’ coffee and the bags under his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Stiles says irritably.

Peter doesn’t pry, just hands him a paint roller. Good man. Stiles feels better by the time they break for dinner and he apologizes for snapping at Peter.

“I grew up in a home with fifteen werewolves, Stiles,” Peter says. “Mood swings aren't new to me at all.”

“Still,” Stiles says. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Eat your dumpling.”

Peter is finished eating before Stiles and pulls out a sketchbook. Stiles tries to peer over Peter’s shoulder, but Peter tilts it away.

“Spoilsport,” Stiles says.

“You tell me why you’re in a bad mood, and I’ll show you,” Peter says.

“That’s extortion,” Stiles says.

“If you say so.”

Stiles glares for a moment, then says, “I get nightmares, okay? And waking up to Scott and your nephew looking at me like I’m a mental patient is not how I’d like to wake up.”

“Okay,” Peter says easily. “Though I’d be more worried if you‘d like to wake up to my nephew’s face, period.”

“Ha ha, let me see,” Stiles says.

Peter turns the sketchbook and Stiles sees a drawing of himself, stuffing his face with a calzone from the other night.

“You ass!” Stiles says, throwing his fork at Peter, who just laughs and easily dodges.

“I’m not one to deny the muse,” Peter says.

“Such a dick,” Stiles says, laughing. “Why do I like you, again?”

“My stunning good looks and dazzling personality,” Peter says.

“Right, that must be it,” Stiles says. “So, moulding tomorrow?”

“The flooring guys come tomorrow,” Peter says. “And they’ll be done the day after tomorrow.”

“Dark hardwood?”

“Dark hardwood.”

“Cool.”

Stiles feels weird doing nothing for two days after a week and a half of manual labor. He’s definitely sore, but in a good way, like he’s done something useful. He counters that by watching Friends reruns all day while eating Cheetos. His dad comes home and just shakes his head.

“You’ve been busy lately. Out with Scott?” his dad asks, joining him for dinner in the living room.

“Scott is solidly on the Allison wagon,” Stiles says.

“I thought they broke up?”

“They got back together.”

“I can’t keep up.”

“Preaching to the choir, dude.”

“So, not Scott. Where’ve you been, kid?” his dad asks.

Stiles considers lying, a habit from having to lie about werewolves for years, until Derek’s baby cousin shifted when she sneezed and spilled the beans. So he’s trying to lie less. Plus, why would he? It’s not like he‘s doing anything wrong.

“I’ve been helping Derek’s uncle get his shop ready,” Stiles says.

“Derek’s uncle Peter? What shop? Peter’s back?” his dad asks.

“Yeah, Peter and Talia apparently buried the hatchet and he moved back,” Stiles says. “He’s a tattoo artist and is opening a shop on Main.”

“And you’re helping get it ready?” his dad asks skeptically.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Stiles says. “But yeah, we’re finishing up the moulding on Thursday.”

His dad stares at him and Stiles is starting to get irritated, but the sheriff just shrugs and says, “Well, you’re staying out of trouble.”

“Don’t I always?” Stiles asks cheekily.

The sheriff glances at Stiles’ shoulder quickly, but Stiles still sees it and tenses.

“Don’t I wish, kid.”

“I’m going to bed,” Stiles says, standing abruptly. His dad calls after him, but Stiles ignores him. He knows his dad doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still rankles him. And yeah, he feels bad for walking out, but he’ll bring his dad lunch or something tomorrow to make up for it. He grabs his phone, fingers hovering over Peter’s name for a second, before he thinks fuck it.

To: Peter Hale  
I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to have people treat you like glass?

The reply comes a few minutes later

_From: Peter Hale  
I can’t say that I do._

To: Peter Hale  
Figures, you furball

_From: Peter Hale  
Why are you treated like glass?_

Stiles bites his lip. Yeah, he started this conversation, but he doesn’t know if he wants to go through with it. God knows his dad and Derek want him to talk to someone, even Peter Black Sheep Hale.

To: Peter Hale  
What did they tell you about the wendigo that came through town a few months ago?

_From: Peter Hale  
A local was attacked and they barely stopped it in time._

To: Peter Hale  
Yeah, that local was me.

Peter doesn't say anything for a few minutes, then Stiles gets three texts, one after the other.

_From: Peter Hale  
They didn't tell me._

_From: Peter Hale  
What happened?_

_From: Peter Hale  
I'm surprised they managed to keep that a secret from me._

To: Peter Hale  
I was driving back from the Hale house and I stopped for gas. It grabbed me then waited until Derek, Cora, Laura, and Talia got there to claw up my back. Bye bye shirtless summers. So I guess it's my fault Talia asked you to move back.

The next text he gets isn't from Peter, but from Cora.

_From: Cora Snarls  
Why did Peter growl and break the banister? And don't play dumb, I know you're texting_

To: Cora Snarls  
I told him about the wendigo

_From: Cora Snarls  
Oh_

_From: Peter Hale  
Is this the source of your nightmares?_

To: Peter Hale  
Yep

_From: Peter Hale  
While I don't approve of you being treated like glass, I can understand the compulsion to keep you safe._

To: Peter Hale  
I don't like people staring at me like I'm about to break. I get it, I'm the weak, squishy human

Stiles jumps as the phone rings, Peter's face staring up at him through the caller ID.

"Hello?"

 _"I didn't, and nor will you ever hear me, say that,"_ Peter says in lieu of hello. _"My sister Emily is the toughest person I've ever met, and she's 100% human."_

"Oh," Stiles says blankly.

_"Being a human around werewolves is hard. We either forget to check our strength and accidentally hurt you, or we go overboard on protection, as I'm sure you've noticed."_

Stiles thinks about to their first week of college, when Derek had nearly bitten off anyone's hands that came to close to Stiles.

"Oh yeah."

_"I can't speak for your father, but I can tell you that right now my family is reeking of guilt."_

"That's stupid, it isn't their fault."

_"Agree to disagree. They're treating you with kid gloves because they're afraid of getting you hurt again."_

"Well, tell them to knock it the fuck off," Stiles says, and Peter snorts.

_"We're getting supplies tomorrow. Be ready at 9:00."_

"In the morning?!"

_"We aren't going clubbing, so yes, in the morning."_

Stiles grumbles but says, "Fine."

 _"And Stiles,"_ Peter says, voice going softer. _"If you ever feel like discussing it with someone who won't coddle you, you know where I am."_

Stiles swallows hard.

"Yeah, thanks."

_"Until tomorrow."_

"See you then."

Stiles goes to bed that night feeling better, but he isn't entirely sure why


	3. Chapter 3

Peter picks him up at exactly 9:00 with coffee and a bagel. Stiles grunts his thanks and relaxes back into Peter's soft leather seats. Stiles has no idea who's going to be open at 9:00 in the morning on a Sunday, but Peter seems sure of where he's going. Stiles' confusion is compounded when they pull into the parking lot of the animal clinic where Scott works.

"Uh," Stiles says. "What are we doing here? I thought you said we're getting supplies?"

"I never said we were getting supplies for the shop," Peter says. He raps sharply on the door, which Stiles thinks is pointless since there aren't any other cars in the lot, but a moment later, Scott's boss appears from the back. He doesn't look surprised to see them, but Deaton never looks surprised at anything.

"Peter, Stiles," Deaton greets. Stiles follows Peter inside.

"Stiles needs mountain ash," Peter says without preamble.

"Oh?" Deaton says, raising an eyebrow. 

"My family has been remiss in their protection of him," Peter says.

"What exactly is mountain ash?" Stiles asks.

"Come with me, Mr. Stilinski, and I will show you," Deaton says.

After a glance at Peter, Stiles follows Deaton back into the examination room with Peter at his heels.

"This is mountain ash," Deaton says, placing a glass jar on the counter.

"A jar of dirt?"

Deaton gives him a flat look. "It's a supernatural protectant. No creature that isn't human will be able to pass a mountain ash barrier," Deaton says.

"You know about werewolves?!"

"Obviously," Deaton says. "Walk a circle with the mountain ash and _believe_ it will work. Belief is very important. Without the spark of belief it is, as you say, little more than a jar of dirt." 

With a curt thank you, Peter leads a spluttering Stiles back to the car and starts driving again.

"What the hell?" Stiles asks.

"I'm appalled that my family didn't equip you sooner," Peter says. "Better late than never, I suppose."

"But Deaton's a vet!"

"That he is," Peter says. "We're going to San Francisco to pick out furniture now."

Stiles just stares before accepting that wow, there's a lot he doesn't know. 

Picking out furniture is relatively easy. All they need is a front desk, which Peter plans on building (Stiles does not find his handiness hot, no siree, not him), a few chairs, a coffee table, and a couch for the waiting area. Peter already had the chairs and stools for actual tattooing shipped from New York. Stiles insists on looking at rugs too, arguing that it'll look very chic with the rest of the decor. Peter caves easily, admitting that Stiles has a better eye for things like that.

After setting a delivery date and a quick lunch, they stop by the house of a friend of Peter's. Peter knocks on the door and waits patiently. 

"David is a witch, by the way," Peter says.

"What?!"

A second later, the front door opens. Stiles doesn't know what he was expecting a witch to look like, but he can honestly say that tall, dark, and handsome in a tailored three piece suit isn't it.

"David, this is Stiles," Peter says.

"Charmed," David says, accent posh and British, and he shakes Stiles' hand. "Shall we continue inside?"

Peter ushers Stiles in to the tastefully decorated home and they both follow David into the kitchen.

"Hex bags, protective amulet, and a dream catcher made by a local Muwekma Ohlone shaman," David says, gesturing to the objects laid out on the kitchen table. "All I need is hair from the intended to activate them."

Without asking, Peter reaches out and yanks a dozen or so of Stiles' hairs out.

"Ouch! What the hell?" Stiles cries.

Peter ignores him and passes the hairs to David, who drops one into each hex bag before closing them, weaves a few into the dream catcher, and places the remaining few on top of the amulet. The amulet is small, no larger than a quarter, and when David mutters a few simple words, the hairs seem to melt right into it.

"Done," David says.

Peter hands David a wad of cash and David carefully bags up the items on the table.

"Always a pleasure," Peter says as David walks them out.

"Sometimes a pleasure," David corrects. They shake hands and part without another word.

Stiles waits until they're in the car and Peter hands him the cloth bag to ask, "What the hell was that?"

"Put on the amulet, and keep it on," Peter says. "It'll protect you from most curses and hexes, and if a werewolf or other contagious beastie bites you, it'll keep your from turning. It's a miracle that being scratched by wendigo didn't turn you to one."

Stiles shudders and immediately takes the medallion from the bag. It's a deep silver with markings on it that Stiles doesn't recognize and it hangs from a black cord. Stiles doesn't know if it'll make him look like a tool or not, but he slips it over his head immediately anyway.

"What are hexbags?" Stiles asks.

"We're going to put one in the wall of each corner of each floor in your house," Peter says. "They'll keep anyone will ill intent out."

"I'm pretty sure my dad will notice eight holes in the walls," Stiles says.

"We're obviously going to spackle them," Peter says with an eye roll. "Hang the dreamcatcher in your room. It should help with the nightmares."

Stiles stares at the bag in his lap, completely overwhelmed.

"I can't pay you for these," is all he can think to say.

"I'm not asking you to," Peter says. "Consider it restitution for all the help you've given me."

Stiles highly doubts the monetary value evens out, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thank you," Stiles says sincerely. "I can't...I don't even know what to thank you." Because you can't put a price on peace of mind.

"Keep yourself safe," Peter says, then his voice drops to a growl. "The fact that the rest of my family hasn't is inexcusable."

"To be fair, I doubt they thought I'd be a supernatural magnet," Stiles says.

"You're a pack-adjacent human. You're in danger just by associating with werewolves, you should be protected," Peter says. His hands flex on the steering wheel, his muscled, tattooed arms tensing. "Beyond Cora following you home."

"Cora follows me home? No, not the point. Thank you," Stiles says. "Since you're a different alpha, does that make me pack adjacent to you?"

"I don't have a pack," Peter says.

"That's now what I asked."

There's a pause, then Peter says, "Yes and no."

"Oookay," Stiles says. "Care to elaborate?"

"Maybe some other time," Peter says.

Normally, Stiles would pry, but Peter just dropped a lot of money on him, so he lets it go. For now.

Once they get back to Beacon Hills, it takes the rest of the day to place the hex bags and fix the walls. Luckily, they still have the leftover paint in the garage from the last time the Stilinskis painted the house. Bam, good as new.

Stiles is a little apprehensive, unsure about the abilities of the dreamcatcher hanging on the corner of his bed frame. He sleeps soundly, though. No nightmares, no panic, nothing but deep REM sleep with a few random dreams scattered here and there. The one where he's a bunny is pleasant enough, then there's the one with Peter. Peter's fingers dancing over Stiles' cheeks, his lips on Stiles' neck, his - 

Stiles' alarm jerks him awake. Stiles groans and presses his pillow over his face. He's so fucking fucked.

The moulding is easily finished right before the furniture is delivered, so by the end of the next two days, they're completely done with the remodel, three whole days before Peter had estimated.

"So, how're you going to get clients?" Stiles asks. He and Peter are very carefully eating chow mein on the new couch in the back room, which also sports a lighted stencil station, a fridge, and a cabinet full of various supplies.

"There's a convention an hour south next month," Peter says. "I have a few appointments lined up next week, so hopefully word of mouth with help. Plus, there aren't many tattoo shops in Beacon Hills that are sanitary and do work that isn't American traditional."

"What's your specialty?" Stiles asks.

"Photo realism, color work, and portraits," Peter says. "Though I can do most styles. Lettering and new school aren't my favorites, though."

"All right Mr. Modest-Jack-of-All-Trades," Stiles says. "Do you do piercings, too? That'll probably be a big draw for anyone that doesn't want to go to Piercing Pagoda in the mall."

"I can, but I'd rather tattoo," Peter says. "I should hire a piercer."

"You should," Stiles says. "Soo, question."

"Yes?"

"Can scars be tattooed over?" Stiles asks nonchalantly. 

"Depends on the scar," Peter says. "Why?"

"I want something eventually, I'm just not sure what," Stiles says.

"I can tell you more if I can see the scar," Peter says.

Stiles takes a deep breath and nods. He knows Peter won't judge him, but no one, not even his dad, has seen the scars since they were fresh wounds. He slips his shirt off and turns his back to Peter, not realizing that he's holding his breath. Peter doesn't gasp in horror or anything, but he doesn't say anything either. Stiles jumps when Peter gently touches his shoulder, right next to where the scars start.

"May I?" Peter asks. Stiles nods.

Peter's hand trails down Stiles' back, over the rough, jagged lines. Stiles knows what Peter sees; four long claw marks that stretch from Stiles' shoulder to halfway down his back. The wendigo could easily have killed him, but that hadn't been the point. The point had been to terrify the Hales and Stiles.

"He, uh," Stiles starts, then clears his throat. "He waited until Talia, Derek, Laura, and Cora got there. Then scratched me and - and licked his fingers. Like he was eating icing off a cupcake."

Stiles almost gags at the memory. Peter places a large hand over the middle of the scars, radiating warmth over Stiles' skin. He can't help but lean back into the touch.

"These do not define you," Peter says. "You are strong, and you're a survivor. You are not your attack."

"I know," Stiles says quietly. "I still don't like them."

"They should be relatively easy to work with," Peter says, slowly drawing his hand from Stiles' skin. "The thicker tissue at the bottom may be more difficult, but manageable."

"Good," Stiles says. "That's good." He dares to glance over his shoulder and Peter is staring at his back with an unreadable expression. Stiles opens his mouth, unsure what he's going to say, but Peter's gaze jerks to the backroom door.

"Boyd's here," Peter says and gets up.

Stiles slips his shirt back on, glad he showed Peter, but still feeling strangely vulnerable and off balance. Stiles follows Peter out to the front room where Peter is looking over Boyd's new hire paperwork.

"What's good, Boyd?" Stiles says. Boyd raises an eyebrow, probably at Stiles being here with Peter again, but doesn't say anything. "Ready for the grand opening?"

"I delivered my last pizza tonight," Boyd said. "I'm more than ready."

"Everything looks good here," Peter says, sliding the paperwork into a folder. "You'll be manning the front desk and practicing for now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Boyd echoes before turning to leave.

"You ready?" Stiles asks when Boyd leaves.

"Absolutely. Three weeks is too much time off," Peter says.

"I'm not sure if moving across the county and doing an entire remodel counts as time off," Stiles says.

"It's not time spent doing what I love," Peter says and well, Stiles can't argue with that.

Stiles dreams of Peter again that night. This time it's Peter caressing his skin, running hands over the scars, and holding Stiles close. Stiles wakes again with a groan. He sees the beginning of a painful pattern forming here.

Stiles brings cupcakes to the grand opening extravaganza. Peter's throwing a party complete with buffet and art gallery set up. He has his own work up for sale, as well as Boyd's. Stiles had been worried that no one would come, but he needn't have been concerned. Most of the Hale clan shows up, dragging their friends who are interested in body mods. It helps that Peter is running a special for $50 for most piercings and tattoos under a certain size and level of complication. A bunch of random people float in and out throughout the days, either having seen the sign or being told by friends. A whole lot of college kids on break end up getting matching tattoos of palm trees on their asses. By the end of the day, Peter's schedule has filled up for the next few weeks and they've sold several paintings.

"Not bad for a day's work," Stiles says when Peter closes up that night.

"Not bad at all," Peter says. He counts out a handful of cash and hands it to Boyd, who looks at him confused. "It's from the paintings you sold."

"This is more than what we charged," Boyd says.

"Cora got into a bit of a bidding war with the man who owns the bakery down the road," Peter says. "Apparently what he thought was perfect for his store front, Cora thought was perfect for the living room."

"Who won?" Boyd asks.

"Fifty bucks on Cora," Stiles says.

"Cora," Peter confirms. "She's coming in tomorrow for a consultation."

"Tattooed Cora, I can see that," Stiles says.

"Talia's going to be livid," Peter says cheerfully.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles brings Peter lunch the next day, then hangs around, alternating between watching Peter sketch out designs, and reading at the front desk so Boyd can practice or shadow Peter. It becomes a habit. He'll still see Scott and Derek, but Scott is working and spending time with Allison, and Derek is not only doing online classes, but somehow got roped into being his cousins' semi-permanent babysitter, so their time is limited.

Peter has time for Stiles. When he's busy, Stiles is content to read or play games on his phone or fuck around online. He even makes the shop an Instagram account. It's exactly what he'd be doing at home, but he likes it at the shop more. He likes the atmosphere and his mind is quiet here. He even likes the quiet, but secretly hilarious Boyd. Stiles doesn't let Peter pay him because, "I'm not DOING anything," so Peter compensates by buying Stiles dinner and groceries a lot, no matter how much he protests. Stiles is pretty sure Peter is regularly stealing his car to fill up the tank, because he doesn't remember the last time he had to stop for gas.

Stiles is dicking around on Facebook when someone walks in the door. Stiles' jaw drops. He's pretty sure it's Erica Reyes, a girl he went to high school with, the girl with epilepsy (he hates himself a bit for thinking of her that way). She seems to have come into her own since Stiles has last seen her. Her long, blonde hair cascades in easy waves, her makeup really making her features pop, and yeah, Stiles has to admit, she looks really good in a low cut shirt.

"Done gawking, Stiles?" Erica asks with a smirk.

"Yes, I mean, Erica, hi!" Stiles says, pulling it together. "What, um, what can we do for you?"

"Can you fit me in for a piercing?" Erica asks.

"Maybe, what piercing?" Stiles asks, opening up Peter's Google calendar. 

"I want an industrial," Erica says.

"Sure," Peter says, coming up to rest a hand on Stiles' shoulder and peer over to look at the schedule. "I don't have anything for an hour."

"Fill these out and we'll need to make a copy of your ID," Stiles says, handing her a clipboard. 

"Do you mind if I take a look?" Peter asks. Erica shrugs and pulls her hair away from her ear. Peter hums and leans in.

"Is something bad?" Erica asks.

"Not at all," Peter says. "Some people don't have enough surface area or curve in the cartilage for it to work, but you'll be just fine. Fill out the forms and I'll get set up."

Erica stares at Peter's ass then gives Stiles a thumbs up, mouthing 'nice!' to him. Stiles turns bright red and flips her off. She laughs and goes back to filling out the forms, then looking around the waiting area. 

"That's seriously cool," Erica says, pointing a watercolor picture of a bird on the wall. 

"That's Boyd's," Stiles says.

"What's Boyd's?" Boyd asks, coming out from the back with a practice skin in his hands. 

"The heron," Stiles says, pointing to where Erica is standing.

"I love it," Erica says, eyeing Boyd with interest.

"I was just playing around," Boyd says with a shrug. "Stiles stole it and put it up."

"It works," Erica says. "You're an artist here?"

"I'm an apprentice," Boyd says. "But that's the plan."

"I'll be sure to come back then," Erica says.

Before Stiles can start making gagging noises, Peter comes out to call Erica back. Fifteen minutes later, Erica leaves with her industrial, aftercare instructions, and Boyd's number. Boyd looks pleased and ignores Stiles' teasing. 

Stiles is at the shop a few days later, lounging on the couch in the backroom while Peter draws up a stencil, when he gets a message in the group text he has with Derek and Scott.

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
Do you want to leave Saturday or Sunday?_

Stiles frowns at his phone.

To: Derek Eyebrows, Scott the Puppy  
Leave for what?

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
For school..._

_From: Scott the Puppy  
Dude classes start monday_

Stiles' heart sinks like a stone. How the hell had he not noticed that his summer break is almost over? For the first time in two years, he's dreading going back and if he's being honest, it's all because of Peter.

To: Derek Eyebrows, Scott the Puppy  
Sunday, noonish

"Stiles," Peter says. Stiles looks up to see Peter frowning. "What happened? Your scent...curdled."

That's a polite way of saying Stiles' sudden bad mood smells bad.

"I go back Sunday," Stiles says morosely. 

"Did you just realize that?" Peter asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes!" Stiles says. "I haven't been counting! I've been actually enjoying my summer for once."

"You haven't done anything with your summer. You've been here," Peter says.

"Exactly," Stiles says.

Peter's eyes soften.

"Come here," Peter says.

Stiles crosses the room to Peter, who stands and pulls Stiles into his arms. Stiles lets out a harsh, shuddering breath and clings to Peter, burying his face in the other man's shoulder.

"I know I'm being stupid," Stiles mutters.

"Feeling something doesn't make you stupid," Peter says, rubbing a hand up and down Stiles' back. Stiles barely flinches when he brushes the scars. "I will miss you, too."

Stiles lets Peter hold him for a few minutes before pulling back with a sigh.

"I'll be off Sunday at noon." 

"We'll do a sendoff dinner on Saturday," Peter says. He gives Stiles' shoulder a squeeze. "I can visit, and Skype exists."

"I'd say I'm not a clingy person, but that's a lie," Stiles says. "Once you're in my kitten basket, that's it, you're one of my people."

"Kitten basket?" Peter asks, sounding highly amused.

"You're a kitten in my basket of caring! Like Derek, my dad, Scott, Cora, you're a kitten!" Stiles says.

Peter chuckles a bit.

"Well I'm honored to be in your basket," Peter says.

"You fucking better be."

It turns out that the sendoff dinner is actually a huge barbeque at the Hale house. Stiles' dad, Scott, and Scott's mom are all invited for the sendoff for Derek, Scott, and Stiles. Stiles had no idea how Scott and Melissa don't notice something odd about the Hale clan, because of the sheer amount of meat consumed if nothing else. Stiles is pretty sure someone slipped his dad a steak, but he can't be sure.

"So Stiles," Cora says, corning him on the couch in the living room. Derek sits on the coffee table across from him a second later.

"Uh..." Stiles says.

"What did you do to our uncle?" Cora asks.

"Peter?"

"No, our other uncle that you spend all your time with," Derek says dryly.

"What do you mean? I didn't do anything," Stiles says.

"So you have no idea why he's been super irritable since he found out you're going back to college?" Cora asks.

"For fuck's sake, I'm not fucking your uncle!" Stiles says. "And I'm really tired of people asking me that."

"I _didn't_ ask that," Cora says smugly.

"You implied it," Stiles says.

"We just want to make sure everything is okay," Derek says.

"Well no, I don't know why Peter is in a bad mood," Stiles says.

"Maybe ask Peter next time," comes Peter's voice from behind them.

"We did! You told us to fuck off!" Cora says.

"You didn't fuck off far enough," Peter says. "Stiles, if you'd come with me, I want your opinion on something."

Stiles scrambles up, gratefully taking the out, and follows Peter down the hallway and deeper into the house.

"Thanks," Stiles says.

"I figured you'd appreciate the rescue," Peter says.

"Do you actually want my opinion on something or was that just the rescue?" Stiles asks.

"I actually want your opinion," Peter says. He leads Stiles to the very back of the house and into one of the rooms. 

"Is this yours?" Stiles asks.

"It's a guest room, that's why it's as bland as an elderly couple's living room," Peter says.

He has a point. The room is all white with pale blue curtains and a painting of a sailboat over the bed. There are even white doilies on top of the dresser. Stiles whistles. 

"Yeah, this doesn't really strike me as your style," Stiles says. Peter smirks.

"Talia and I have very different ideas of good taste, which leads me to this," Peter says, settling his laptop onto the bed. He pulls up two windows side by side. "I'm going back and forth between the two of these."

Stiles leans forward to see two real estate listings. They're both huge and Stiles' eyes nearly pop out of his head at the prices.

"So either a house in the woods or a condo downtown?" Stiles asks.

"I don't want to have to do much more than paint," Peter says. "Which I like about the condo. But after living in the city for so long, I might want a change of pace."

"Downtown Beacon Hills isn't exactly New York," Stiles mutters. He clicks between the two and hums, comparing everything down to the gutters. "I like the condo, very modern, but I mean, do you plan on growing your pack? Because if so, being right by the preserve and having more space would probably be good."

"An alpha isn't much good without a pack," Peter admits. "I've been considering offering Boyd the bite."

"Whoa," Stiles says, eyebrows rising. "Really?"

"I think he'd take to it well. And I like him, which is quite rare, as you know," Peter says.

"Understatement," Stiles says. "Why haven't you offered it yet?"

"I wanted to talk to you about it first," Peter says.

"Why? It's your pack," Stiles says.

Peter gives him an unreadable look that makes Stiles want to fidget.

"Do you really think that?" Peter asks. "That it's just me?"

"No," Stiles admits quietly. "But I didn't know. I didn't want to assume."

"I should be clear then," Peter says. He reaches out, his hand resting on the side of Stiles' neck. "You have a place in my pack, as my second, if you want it."

And Stiles does, he realizes. He wants it badly. But...

"Are you sure? I've got two more years of college so I'll be gone a lot. And what if I get too annoying? Or your new furry members hate me? Or - "

"If anyone hates you, they have no place in my pack," Peter interrupts. Stiles' mouth closes with a click. "I will never tire of you. And two years is nothing, especially since you're only a few hours away. I'm fine with you taking time to consider this. It's a lifetime decision, Stiles."

"You want to be stuck with me for a lifetime?" Stiles says skeptically. 

"Yes," Peter says simply. He briefly squeezes the back of Stiles' neck. "Consider it. Now, come on. Talia is putting out dessert."

Stiles spends the rest of the party in deep thought. He waves off Scott and Derek's concern, sayings he's just thinking about school prep, which isn't a complete lie. Most of his attention is taken up by Peter, though. Peter who wants him in his pack, wants him as his second in command. In all the years that Stiles has known the Hales as werewolves, Talia has never asked him to be pack. He's been pack-adjacent, as Peter called it, but they never had wanted him as a true member. Peter values him, Peter _wants_ him. And if Stiles is being honest with himself, he wants it, too.

Stiles seeks Peter out before the end of the night. They walk a bit away from where everyone is congregated around the fire pit. Stiles knows they're still easily within hearing distance of the werewolf members of the family, but Stiles doesn't care. It's not like they aren't going to find out anyway.

"I'm sure," Stiles says. "I want this."

Peter smiles and it makes something in Stiles flutter.

"Good," Peter says. "Thank you."

"I don't need to take the bite, right?" Stiles asks.

"Not if you don't want to," Peter says. "You'll be my pack either way."

There's a gasp from the fire pit and what sounds like multiple dishes being dropped, but Peter doesn't look over and neither does Stiles. Peter reaches oh so slowly and brushes the back of his hand over Stiles' cheek. Scent marking, Stiles realizes.

"Stiles! We're heading out!" his dad calls from the porch. If he'd noticed the exchange, he doesn't say anything.

Hale eyes follow Stiles and Peter as they cross the backyard but Stiles doesn't look at anyone until they get to where his dad and Talia are standing.

"Thanks for everything," Stiles says. "It was great."

"You're welcome," Talia says, looking a bit dazed. "Drive safe."

"I'll be here to pick up Derek at noon," Stiles says.

"That sounds wonderful, thank you."

Stiles waves goodbye to everyone and follows his dad out. They're halfway home when Stiles' phone buzzes.

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
Mom's giving Peter hell_

_From: Cora Snarls  
Omg this is the best thing ever. Mom is yelling at peter for 'poaching' you._

To: Derek Eyebrows, Cora Snarls  
Poaching me? I'm not a zebra 

_From: Cora Snarls  
Peter told her to 'get your panties out of a twist' and basically said if she wanted you, she should have offered sometime in the past ten years. And I mean, he isn't wrong._

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
She's calmed down a bit. I think she's remembering why she and Peter do better apart._

To: Derek Eyebrows, Cora Snarls  
Did I make things bad for your family?

_From: Cora Snarls  
No_

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
No_

_From: Cora Snarls  
You know mom, she just needs her control. She'll get over it_

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
Don't worry about it. It's what you want, right?_

To: Derek Eyebrows, Cora Snarls  
Yeah, it is

_From: Cora Snarls  
Fuck everything else then. Don't worry, mom still loves you._

_From: Derek Eyebrows  
She's just remembering that Peter's a little shit_

And yeah, Stiles doesn't disagree with that.

The next morning, after a misty-eyed goodbye with his dad, Stiles picks up Scott then drives to the Hale house. All of their bags easily fit in Stiles' jeep (the house they'd be renting is already furnished). If Talia's angry at him, she does a hell of a job hiding it as she gives each of them a fierce hug goodbye. Peter pulls Stiles aside and presses a box into his hands.

"Thanksgiving break will be here before you know it," Peter says.

"Oh, fuck off," Stiles says good-naturedly. "What's this?"

"A housewarming gift for when you get there," Peter says. "Text me when you get there safely."

"Aye aye, Captain," Stiles says. Peter brushes his fingers over the pulse point in Stiles' wrist, a more subtle way to scent him in front of Scott, and sends them off. 

They're halfway down the Hales' driveway when Scott asks, "Are you and Peter dating?"

Stiles chokes on the water he's drinking and almost drives into a tree.

"What! Why? No!" Stiles says.

"Talia kind of looked like she was sucking a lemon while you guys were talking," Scott says with a shrug. "And you've been around him a lot this summer."

"If you recall, _someone_ spent every waking moment of the summer with a certain girl named Allison," Stiles says. "So I had to find someone to spend time with. Peter and I are friends, that's it."

Scott grimaces and Stiles only feels a little bad about the Allison comment. Scott spent all summer forgetting that Stiles exists, so it's hard to care a whole lot.

As always, Scott falls asleep twenty minutes into the four-hour drive. Derek reads, which makes Stiles car sick to even think about. And Stiles, well, he fiddles with the radio and downs two energy drinks until Derek grabs them and tosses the remaining cans out the window.

"Litterer," Stiles mumbles.

With all the bathroom stops (damn Scott’s small bladder), it's close to 5:00 pm when they pull into the driveway of the house they're renting with two other guys. Yeah, the rooms are small and they're stuck with guys they barely know, but it's cheap and furnished, so Stiles figures they can deal with it for the year. Stiles collapses on the small, twin bed and texts his dad and Peter that he arrived.

_From: Peter Hale  
Good. Have you opened the package?_

To: Peter Hale  
Dude I totally forgot, gimme a sec

Stiles rifles through the piles in his room until he finds the xerox box Peter had handed him. Stiles honestly has no idea what Peter would send with him, so he's shocked when he opens the box to find it stuffed with all his favorite snacks. There are packages of Skittles, popcorn, and all the Cheetos he could ever eat.

To: Peter Hale  
Dude this is awesome! Thanks!

_From: Peter Hale  
Don't rot your teeth out._

To: Peter Hale  
Nooo promises

The first week of classes are as dull as always. They're all trying to feel out the professors, trying to see what their limits are. Stiles gets snapped at by his computer science teacher on Wednesday, which doesn't bother him much, though the rest of the class looks wide-eyed and nervous.

To: Peter Hale  
I think my comp sci prof hates me

_From: Peter Hale  
What'd you do?_

To: Peter Hale  
What makes you think I did anything?

_From: Peter Hale  
Stiles._

To: Peter Hale  
Fine. I may have pointed out one or two or ten coding errors he made

_From: Peter Hale  
Shocking that he didn't appreciate that._

To: Peter Hale  
Rude

Stiles had been worried that Skyping with Peter would be awkward, but thankfully, it isn't. They have their same banter, their same style of conversation as always. Stiles does notice that packages from Peter start coming more frequently after these conversations. If Stiles mentions he's craving beef jerky, bam, a couple of days later, a box comes absolutely teeming with jerky. Stiles' notebook is falling apart, and five new ones show up. The real kicker is when Stiles' laptop keeps turning itself off in the middle of their conversations, the UPS guy has him sign for a brand new MacBook the very next day.

"Dude," Scott says, jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

"I have no idea," Stiles says, looking at the box incredulously. He's about to text Peter what the hell, but Derek pulls him aside first.

"What's up?" Stiles asks when they're alone in his room.

Derek looks extremely uncomfortable when he says, "I think Peter is courting you."

Stiles looks at him blankly.

"Peter's doing what now?" Stiles asks.

"All the gifts, how often he bought you food in Beacon Hills? He asked me if your jeep needs fixing still," Derek says.

"I thought that was all just stuff you wolf people do?" Stiles asks. 

"It is, but this feels different, kind of like when that girl from the Lawrence pack was after Laura," Derek says. "He's providing for and trying to protect you. I could be wrong, but I think it's a possibility."

"Huh..." Stiles says. Sure, Peter's hot, and he can't deny that he's thought about this, maybe wanted it a little bit, but he never thought it would be an actual option. He looks at Derek and asks, "Does it bother you?"

Derek looks surprised.

"He's my uncle and you're my best friend. All I want is for both of you to be happy. And if you two make each other happy, then that's that," Derek says.

Stiles doesn't know what to say, so he lurches forward and yanks Derek in for a hug. Derek hugs him back just as hard.

"Now get out, I'm going to call Peter," Stiles says. Derek makes tracks, closing the door behind him. Stiles spends a few minutes setting up the new laptop, deciding he'd rather see Peter's face for this conversation. Luckily, he's online and answers after a few seconds, his face appearing on Stiles' screen. Something warm pools in Stiles' chest.

_"Stiles,"_ Peter says in lieu of greeting. _I take it you received my gift?"_

"Are you courting me?" Stiles blurts out and wow, he meant to ask that a lot smoother. Peter stills, his expression unreadable.

_What makes you ask that?"_ Peter asks.

"That's so not an answer," Stiles says. "The feeding me, the gifts, the whole protection and providing this...Am I reading this wrong?"

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose and for a heart-stopping moment, Stiles thinks that Derek got it wrong and he's just made an ass of himself.

_"You're not wrong,"_ Peter says. _"Though I think Derek and I need to have a little talk about boundaries."_

"You don't exactly look happy about it..." Stiles says.

Peter's expression clears.

_"Oh no, don't misunderstand. I just wasn't planning on doing anything about it until you're out of school,"_ Peter says.

"What? Why?"

_"You have a lot on your plate. Potentially entering a relationship with a man much older than you would be an added burden,"_ Peter says.

"Okay, A. Not a burden. B. What if it's something I want?" Stiles asks.

Peter studies him for a moment.

"Is _this something you want?"_ Peter asks. _"Dating your alpha can be difficult."_

"I'm a classy lady, you have to take me on a date first," Stiles says. Peter smirks.

_"I think I can handle that,"_ Peter says.

As if Stiles doesn't have enough of a reason to look forward to coming home.

Peter was right when he'd said time would fly between the beginning of the semester and the Thanksgiving break, but probably not for the reasons he'd thought. Stiles had had the brilliant idea of doubling his workload to graduate a year early. Great in theory, horrible in practice. Peter had threatened to tell on Stiles to his dad if he didn't get some sleep.

By the time they were getting ready to drive back to Beacon Hills, Stiles is so tired that he barely protests when Derek takes the keys. He just mumbles a 'whatever' and falls asleep in the passenger seat within the first five minutes of the drive. He wakes up about twenty minutes outside of Beacon Hills and switches places with Derek. He drops off Scott first, then Derek (Peter isn't there, so Stiles doesn't bother to get out of the jeep), then mercifully, he makes it home. His dad is at work, so Stiles shoots him a quick text, then crawls into his bed and passes out.

Stiles' phone wakes him up a few hours later, ringing next to his ear.

"'Lo?" Stiles asks groggily.

_"I'm guessing you arrived safely,"_ comes Peter's amused voice. _"Did I wake you?"_

"Yeah, but I needed to get up anyway," Stiles says.

_"Are you doing anything Saturday night?"_ Peter asks.

"Uh, my dad's working, so nope, not a thing," Stiles says.

_"Excellent, because I made reservations,"_ Peter says.

"Reservations?"

_"For dinner. You said you're a classy lady, after all,"_ Peter says.

Stiles grins into his pillow.

"You're going to make an honest man out of me?" Stiles asks.

_"That's the plan."_

Stiles gets off the phone a few minutes later feeling light than air.

The sheriff and Melissa always are stuck working Thanksgiving, so Stiles and Scott usually spend the day playing video games and eating pizza. Apparently, Talia had gotten wind of that and decided it's completely unacceptable, and strong arms Scott and Stiles into coming to the Hales' house for Thanksgiving. Scott catches the flu at the last minute (Stiles doesn't know if he believes that or not), so it's only Stiles who drives over Thursday afternoon.

Peter is out on the front porch with Derek, and Stiles can't help but grin. Derek and Peter have always been close, so when Peter had left, Derek had been crushed. He and his sisters visited Peter, but it just wasn't the same.

Peter and Derek both wave when he parks, but Derek heads back inside before Stiles gets up the porch steps. Peter smiles in greeting and before Stiles can say hello, Peter is in his space, crowding him against the wall of the house. Their bodies are pressed from the chest down and Peter slowly brushes his cheek over Stiles' before resting their foreheads together. Stiles' breath is ragged as he clings to Peter's arms.

"Hello," Peter says, voice rough. 

"Hi," Stiles says.

"I've missed you," Peter says, and that's not something Stiles is expecting, though maybe he should have. He's Peter's pack, of course it would be hard being separated. 

Peter's wearing a v-neck, because of course he is, and Stiles had a perfect view of the wolf with bright blue eyes tattooed in the center of Peter's chest. Stiles gives in to the temptation to touch, stroking his fingers over the image.

"I missed you, too," Stiles says.

There's a screech from inside, one of Derek's many cousins, probably, and Peter sighs, backing away.

"I suppose that's our cue," Peter says.

Stiles grumbles but follows Peter in the chaos that is the Hale family holiday. Stiles had been vaguely worried that the Hales would treat him differently since he joined Peter's pack, but everything is the same as always. Cora, who works at a garage, still gets engine grease on his clothes, Laura still fucks with his hair, and Talia still fusses. The only awkward moment is when Miranda, Derek's little cousin, comes up and pulls on Stiles' pant leg.

"What's up, munchkin?" Stiles asks, squatting down next to her. 

"Why do you and Uncle Peter smell like each other?" she asks.

Stiles looks helplessly up at Peter, who's standing by the kitchen island. Peter snorts and kneels down next to Stiles and Miranda.

"You know how your mom is your alpha? Do you know what that means?" Peter asks.

"It means she's in charge of the pack," Miranda says.

"More or less," Peter says. "Well, I'm Stiles' alpha and he's my pack."

"You're not part of our pack?" Miranda asks. "And that makes no sense, Stiles is human."

"Your sister is human," Peter points out. "And a pack can't have two alphas, so I have to have my own."

"Oh, okay," Miranda says. "But you smell like you _like_ each other, like how Cora smells when she talks to Justin."

Stiles turns bright red and refuses to meet Peter's eyes. Luckily, Cora swoops in to save them.

"Whoa there, squirt," she says, scooping Miranda up and ticking her sides. "Remember what we talked about? It's not polite to bring up things we smell on other people unless we think they might be in danger, right?"

"Right," Miranda says. "Sorry Stiles, sorry Uncle Peter."

"It's okay, kiddo. We aren't mad," Peter says.

Just ridiculously embarrassed, Stiles thinks.

Stiles ends up sitting between Derek and Peter at dinner. Derek rolls his eyes whenever their eyes linger on each other for a bit too long, or when Stiles' heartbeat trips when he and Peter touch. Derek can fuck right off, Stiles hasn't been interested in someone in years, and he's going to enjoy it, damn it.

Dinner is amazing, and Stiles eats way too much, leading him to a food coma on the couch. The whole family is gathered in the living room, talking or playing board games. Peter is sitting next to Stiles, as passed out Hale cousin on his lap.

"I'm going die," Stiles moans.

"No, you aren't," Peter says. "You just have no self-control."

"Which is going to make me die."

"Are you coming to the shop tomorrow?" Peter asks.

"My dad's working during the day, so sure. Why?" Stiles asks.

"I thought you might want to see Boyd and Erica," Peter says. Stiles had kind of forgotten Erica had been spending a loooot of time around Boyd. Oops. "And if it interests you, Derek is coming in to get tattooed."

Stiles whips his head around to look at Derek, who has the audacity to just shrug.

"You're supposed to tell me these things!" Stiles says. "We're friends!"

"I figured you'd find out from Peter anyway," Derek says.

"That is beyond not the point!" Stiles says, then turns back to Peter. "I will absolutely be there because I want to see this dic- this fuzzball's face."

Derek grumbles, but Peter just smirks.

Derek's pain face turns out to be a complete disappointment; he just frowns harder than usual. The whole thing becomes significantly less amusing when Peter brings out the blowtorch. Stiles has to leave the room then out of sheer self-preservation. The triskele between Derek's shoulder blades turns out beautifully, though. As if Stiles would ever expect anything less. Once Peter's packed away the blowtorch, he has Boyd come in and take a look. Boyd whistles, impressed with the clean lines (something he's still working on).

It's later that night, right before they're closing up, that Erica drops by to wait for Boyd. One second she's flipping through Peter's portfolio, and the next, Peter's head snaps up from across the shop.

"Erica?" he calls, but gets no answer.

Stiles looks over just in time to see the book fall from her hands. She drops like a puppet whose strings have been cut, her body seizing before it even hits the floor. Peter and Boyd both overturn their chairs rushing over, Peter sliding to his knees in front of her a second before Boyd, who turns her on her side.

"Don't touch her," Peter says, batting away Stiles' hands. "Just make sure she doesn't hit any furniture."

Boyd immediately shoves the coffee table away. Boyd's face is as open and raw as Stiles has ever seen, and he's never felt this helpless in his entire life, not even when Scott had his first asthma attack. Waiting for the seizing to stop feels like an eternity, but the shaking eventually abates and Erica opens her eyes.

"Fuck," she groans, rolling onto her back.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asks, then winces. "Right, stupid question."

"We should take you to the hospital," Boyd says.

"No, no hospitals," Erica says, pushing herself into a sitting position. "My health insurance is crap."

"You need to go," Stiles says.

"I know I _need_ to, but I also need to be able to afford rent and food," Erica snaps. "I just need to go home."

"I'll take you," Boyd says. "I'm staying to make sure you're okay, too."

Erica rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. Peter and Stiles watch them leave, Peter frowning.

"What are you thinking?" Stiles asks, recognizing that face.

"I'm thinking," Peter says slowly, "that the bite could cure her."

Stiles just stares.

"It can do that?" Stiles asks.

"It's not 100% of the time, and it's not a guarantee," Peter says. "But I think it's a good chance for her."

"You've been thinking about offering it to Boyd, would you offer it to her, too?" Stiles asks.

"Is that okay with you?"

"Does my opinion matter?" Stiles asks with a snort.

"Of course," Peter says.

"What, really?"

"You're my pack, Stiles. What you think matters," Peter says.

"I mean, I'm fine with it. I like them both, and it'll help her," Stiles says.

"I sense a but," Peter says.

"No, nothing about them, I just..." Stiles hesitates, biting his lip. Peter doesn't rush him. "If the bite can cure Erica, why didn't Talia...did she let my mom die?"

Peter's gaze softens immediately and he takes Stiles' hands in his own.

"Talia actually called me about your mother," Peter says. Stiles looks up in shock. "Your mother was sick enough that we didn't think the bite would take. Most likely, her weakened body would have rejected it and she would have had an agonizing death."

"Oh," Stiles says quietly. 

"Come here," Peter murmurs and draws Stiles into the circle of his arms. They stay like the for a while, Peter running his hand up and down Stiles' back until he eventually pulls away.

"Do you want me there so I can verify that you're not going to eat them?" Stiles asks.

"Sure," Peter says, sounding amused. "It will have to wait until Sunday, though. We're still going out tomorrow. Wear something that isn't plaid."

That actually makes Stiles do some digging the next day until he comes up with a black button-down that Lydia had bought for him before she left for MIT. He takes a picture of himself in it and texts it to her, telling her that he has a date. She send him back and alarming amount of questions marks and a demand for him to tell her all the details. 

Peter's hard to pin down sometimes, so Stiles isn't exactly sure what to expect for their date, but dinner at Peter's home is fantastic. Stiles inevitably ends up knocking things over or generally making a fool of himself in fancy places, and this is just calm and comfortable. Peter had ended up buying the house that backed onto the preserve and had immediately started renovations. Stiles hadn't even realized it's finished. 

“You definitely said we’re going out, you sneaky little shit,” Stiles says when Peter lets him in.

“So I did,” Peter says. “Technically, you’re out of your house.”

“Ass,” Stiles says.

“Yes,” Peter just answer. 

"Wow," Stiles says, walking in the front door. The entire space is very modern, but still gives off that warmth that makes Stiles feel welcome.

"I'm happy with how it turned out," Peter says. "The roast is in and should be done soon. In the meantime, tour?"

"You made it sound like you were slapping on a few coast of paint, not putting in a shower bigger than my bedroom," Stiles says when they make it to the master bathroom.

"I like what I like," Peter says, completely unapologetic. "Don't tell me that you aren't dying to get in that shower."

"I can neither confirm nor deny..."

"That's what I thought," Peter says.

It's not like he and Peter haven't dined together before, but this is different, this is a date, so this has the potential to be extremely awkward, but being with Peter has always been easy, and tonight is no different, except for the intent. Except for the way Peter kisses Stiles. Except Stiles moaning pressing his body against Peter's. Except them climbing the stairs to Peter's bedroom.

Peter takes his time with Stiles, his hands tracing every inch of his skin. He seems determined to coax every sound from Stiles that he can. Stiles isn’t selfish and tried to return to attention, but Peter murmurs, “Let me,” against Stiles’ lips and continues fingering Stiles until he’s ready to cry.

Stiles has had his fair share of sex, but nothing has felt like this, nothing can come close to how he feels when Peter slides into him. He gasps, clinging to the sheets above his head as Peter rocks into him, keening and sighing with every slow thrust. This is more than just sex. This is slow and sweet and by the time Stiles comes, he’s digging his nails into Peter’s skin, gasping out his name. Peter growls loudly when he finishes inside of Stiles, face buried in his neck. They lie there for a long time after, Stiles gathered close to Peter’s chest.

“Wow,” Stiles says when he’s finally caught his breath. Peter hums. “I’ve never had – not like that,” Stiles says. Peter gives him a squeeze.

Stiles nuzzles at Peter’s chest, right over the wolf that’s tattooed there, and sigh contentedly. They lie there, wrapped in each other until Peter says,” Are you still interested in trying out that shower?”

Stiles scrambled off the bed, almost elbowing Peter in the process, and beelines for Peter’s en suite. Peter follows at a more sedate pace. The rainfall showerhead is the best thing ever and he tells Peter so.

“I’ll have to improve my game,” Peter says.

A moment later, Peter is stepping into the large shower behind Stiles. Stiles holds his breath, his scarred back now fully on display. He nearly jumps when Peter’s hands curve over his hips and his lips ghost over the worst of the scarring on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt you?” Peter asks, his lips still brushing Stiles’ skin.

Stiles swallows hard and shakes his head.

“No. I’m lucky,” Stiles says. “It gets tight sometimes, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Let me know when that happens,” Peter says. He trails a hand up Stiles’ wet skin, massing when he reaches the shoulder. “I may be able to do something about that.”

“Okay,” Stiles says quietly. 

Peter wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, pulling him back against his body. He kisses Stiles’ neck, a hand trailing down Stiles’ stomach and reaching between his legs. 

“Mm, and what do we have here?” Peter asks, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ half-hard cock. Stiles’ breath hitches as he watches the play of muscles under Peter’s tattooed skin as he strokes him to full hardness. Peter rolls his hips, his own erection pressing against Stiles’ ass. Neither of them say anything, both breathing hard and undulating their wet bodies until Stiles comes with a cry, Peter following soon after.

They actually shower after that, Peter seeming to enjoy washing Stiles. Stiles is pretty sure that has something to do with the fact that he’s being covered in Peter’s own body wash and smell, but whatever, Stiles isn’t complaining.

Neither of them bother with clothes, both slipping nude between Peter’s ridiculously soft sheets. Peter immediately pulls Stiles to him, like he’s his favorite stuffed toy. As Stiles drifts off with Peter at his back, he doesn’t even care that his massive scars are exposed and pressed against Peter’s chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter invites Boyd and Erica over for dinner the next night. He makes enchiladas, which normally Stiles is iffy on, but they're Erica's favorite and Peter's happen to be delicious. Erica looks a bit   
under the weather still, dark circles under her eyes and moving like she's sore, but conversation is just as energetic and lively as usual. She gives Stiles and Peter hell for the large hickey on the side of Stiles' neck (his dad hadn't been too pleased about that, either). But then Peter broaches the topic of werewolves and she looks at him like he needs to be committed.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you," Peter says, then flashes red eyes and lets his face shift.

"Shit!" Erica hisses, shoving her chair back with a loud screech. Boyd is next to her a second later, hand partially out like he's ready to ward off a blow that isn't coming.

"Smooth, Peter," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "Really smooth. Oh, don't be scared, but I'm going to flash a nightmare face at you." Stiles drops himself in Peter's lap and kisses him on the nose. Peter's face morphs back, werewolf features slipping away. Erica and Boyd are looking at them like they've lost their damn minds.

"We need an explanation, now," Boyd says, deep voice low and scared.

"Peter's a werewolf," Stiles says. "He's faster, stronger, has better senses, and can't get sick."

Erica looks up at that, her face warring between skeptical and hopeful.

"Are you...human?" Erica asks.

"Oh yeah. 100% weak and squishy," Stiles says.

"Stop that," Peter says, kissing Stiles' temple.

"Okay," Boyd says slowly. "Okay, say we believe you, why are you telling us?"

"Despite what movies will say, lone wolves don't last long. Werewolves are pack-oriented. Pack is more than family, it's an extension of our self. Stiles right now is my pack. And there's a place for you, if you're interested," Peter says.

They both silent for a moment, staring at Peter until Erica says, "What?"

"You will be faster, stronger, and I can't guarantee it, but there's a good chance that turning you will cure your epilepsy," Peter says.

"Really?"

"I can't promise," Peter says. "But it cured my brother-in-law's early-stage cancer, and my sister's Crohn's disease."

Stiles snorts at that, and even Boyd quirks a smile.

"So...this pack. Tell us about it," Boyd says.

Stiles lets Peter talk because really, who's the expert here? Peter tells them about hierarchy, about his relationship to Talia and her pack, about what being a werewolf is like. He also tells them about the dangers, about rogue hunters and the possibility that they bite won't take, that it might kill them.

"We need time to decide," Boyd says finally.

"We aren't going to tell anyone, or anything like that," Erica adds. "Just want to talk it over, you know?"

"I do," Peter says. "Are you still going to be coming in to work?" he adds to Boyd.

"Yes," Boyd says. "I'm not afraid of you, nothing has changed there."

"Good," Peter says. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

They walk Boyd and Erica out, watching until the car's taillights disappear around the corner. 

"I think that went well," Stiles says.

"Much better than when Talia revealed herself to her husband," Peter says. "He fainted and threw up."

"Michael did?!"

"He did," Peter confirms. "Feel free to give him lots of grief for that."

Stiles doesn't stay with Peter that night, needing to spend some time with his dad before he goes back to school. He stops by Peter's house the next morning to say goodbye, and they spend a long time trading lazy kisses on the front porch before Derek calls Stiles to tell him to hurry the fuck up, they have afternoon classes they need to get to.

School is another mad rush with only a few weeks until the semester is over. Stiles is living on energy drinks and Cheetos alone. Derek and Scott keep shooting him worried glances, especially when he pulls three all-nighters in a week, but Stiles just cheerfully salutes them and locks himself in his room to study.

_From: Peter Hale  
When did you last sleep?_

To: Peter Hale  
Yesterday

_From: Peter Hale  
Really?_

To: Peter Hale  
I think. Wait, when was Wednesday?

_From: Peter Hale  
I know you have a lot to do, but you need to rest, Stiles. Brains don't work well without sleep._

To: Peter Hale  
What I NEED is to finish my presentation for comp sci before my teacher rips me a new asshole.

_From: Peter Hale  
I would avenge you_

That's one of the things Stiles loves about Peter; he knows when to leave well enough alone. Because if he'd pressed, you bet your ass that Stiles would lose it on him. A care package comes the next day with the ingredients for a bunch of healthy meals and Stiles takes the hint, setting aside the Cheetos. The least he can do, he supposes.

Finals are brutal. The difference between his sophomore and junior years is staggering. He's pretty sure he almost fails his business test, but he figures it was an elective anyway, so whatever. The girl next to him in comp sci falls apart in the middle of the test (she'd stacked too many classes like Stiles had) and the guy on her other side assured her, "Don't worry, Cs get degrees".

Stiles' other roommates, he thinks of them as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass, don't seem to care that it's finals and have people over and are blasting music all hours of the night. It's finally the last straw when it's 1:00 am the morning before Stiles' last test and Tweedle Dumbass has had a rager going all night, even after repeated requests from Stiles, Derek, and Scott to keep it down. Stiles stalks out of his room and into the living room where all the drunk hooligans (YES hooligans!) are gathered.

"Hey!" Stiles shouts, but he isn't heard over the music. "HEY!"

Dumbass looks over and tosses a beer at Stiles. Stiles barely catches it, then launches it back at Dumbass' head like it's a baseball.

"What the fuck?!" Dumbass shouts. Well, Stiles assumes he shouts, he can only see his lips moving. 

100% done, Stiles walks over to the stereo, which is his, by the way, and yanks out the cord. The music dies and affronted shouts come from all over the room.

"I have a final in six hours," Stiles says through gritted teeth. "I seem to recall asking you to _shut the fuck up._ "

"Dude, we're just letting off steam, it's the end of the semester," Dumbass says.

"I know that, hence MY FINAL," Stiles says, trying so, so hard not to just run across the room and pummel the guy. 

"Chill, bro, it's no big deal," Dumbass says and really, Stiles has had enough. He yanks up the stereo and hefts it under his arm, ignoring the protesting cries.

"How about this. You clear every-fucking-body out, or I'll call the landlord and tell her you regularly snort coke in her bathroom and lit shower curtain on fire with a misaimed bong hit."

Dumbass goes silent, looking thunderous, and Stiles just raises his chin in defiance. He was bullied all through middle school, until Derek caught wind of it and put the fear of god in his classmates, so he doesn't give a fuck about weak guys trying to intimidate him.

"Fine," Tweedle Dumbass finally grits out. "You heard my mom, get out, guys."

A few people shove by Stiles to leave, but stop short and mumble apologies when Derek appears behind him, arms crossed. 

"You good?" Derek asks when the last of them leaves and Dumbass goes upstairs with a middle finger aimed at Stiles.

"I'm good," Stiles says. "Kind of want to call Mrs. Katrakis anyway."

"I will," Derek says. "You made a deal with him, I didn't."

"You're a god among men," Stiles says and pats Derek on the shoulder. He zombie walks back to bed, collapsing face-first, and gets a good four-and-a-half hours of sleep. Fantastic.

Stiles, Derek, and Scott drive home the hour after Stiles' last final is done. They all lock their room doors because they don't trust Tweedle Dumbass to not trash their rooms in retaliation. God, Stiles can't wait to not live there.

As much as he wants to go see Peter right away, his dad actually has a few days off (his staff forced him out of the office since he had to work Christmas and New Years), so he goes home instead. His dad surprises him with dinner and having dragged down all the Christmas decorations from the attic. Stiles has thing for decorating, okay? And his dad has always indulged him, which led to them having more Christmas decorations than the next five families put together.

"Are we going to get a tree?" Stiles asks as soon as he's done hugging his father.

"Do you want to go get a tree?" the sheriff asks.

"Dumb question," Stiles says, yanking his dad by the hand and right back into the jeep. 

After two hours of hunting, some impressive haggling, and yanking it in through the front door, they have the perfect tree up. And Stiles gets to work. Tinsel, baubles, little stars. By the time Stiles is done, it looks like something out of a magazine. His dad shakes his head.

"I don't know how I'm impressed every year, but it's still a wonder to me how you do that," the sheriff says. "You get that from your mom."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," the sheriff answers. Stiles hands him a wreath to stave off the ensuing silence, which the sheriff takes gratefully to go put on the front door.

It takes Stiles until 1:00 am to get it all done, but it looks like a damn winter fairyland when he's done, so he's happy. It's not until he's crawling into bed that he checks his phone.

_From: Erica Reyes  
Yo, what are you doing the day after tomorrow?_

To: Erica Reyes  
Not a thing, why?

_From: Erica Reyes  
Come to Peter's with us. We're surprising him with Christmas decorations because he's being a scrooge_

To: Erica Reyes  
He's what now? I thought he let you guys put up decorations in the shop?

_From: Erica Reyes  
He did, but he won't put anything up at his house. He says it takes too much effort and that is not acceptable!_

To: Erica Reyes  
So this is a surprise attack

_From: Erica Reyes  
Damn right_

To: Erica Reyes  
I'm in.

Peter doesn't seem at all fazed to have Stiles, Boyd, and Erica show up on his doorstep, each lugging a huge box full of decorations. He merely raises an eyebrow.

"Moooove, this is heavy," Erica says, hiking the box a little higher. Peter steps to the side with a grand sweep of his arm. "Thank you."

"Grab a box, you're the strong one," Stiles says, walking by.

Peter snorts but complies, coming back with three boxes stacked on top of each other.

"Showoff," Erica says.

"What's all this?" Peter asks, his living room taken over by huge moving boxes.

"This is a holiday intervention," Stiles says.

"Christmas is in five days," Peter says, watching Erica throw gold fabric over his mantle. 

"So it's not too late," Stiles says. "Come with me, we're getting a tree."

Peter lets Stiles pull him to the same tree lot he'd been to with his dad a few days before. It was pretty picked over, but there was a huge tree left that was too big for more homes but would be perfect with Peter's high ceilings. The worker notices Stiles and sighs, resigning herself to more creative haggling, finally giving him a lower price if he swore this was the last time he was coming.

By the time they get back, Erica has covered the banister and lined all the windows with tinsel and Boyd made sure every single door had a wreath on it. Some may say excessive, Stiles says festive. 

"We have a tree!" Stiles hollers, he and Peter maneuvering the tree in the front door. 

"I have a base!" Erica calls back. "Middle of the room or in front of the big window?"

"Window, it'll look - is window okay?" Stiles asks, seeming to remember that it is Peter's house after all.

"Do I have a choice?" Peter asks, but he sounds amused rather than angry.

"Sure don't, window!" Stiles says.

"Not that I don't appreciate this," Peter says, once the tree is safely in its stand, "but what exactly is going on?"

"We are un-Scrooging you," Erica says.

"I see that, but why?" Peter asks.

"It seems like something pack would do," Boyd says evenly, though he looks a little unsure.

Peter smiles, not smirks, but gives a real, honest smile, and Stiles is struck by how lonely Peter must be. His only pack member is hours away, his family is guarded because he technically is a rival alpha, the only constants in his life are Boyd and Erica, and Stiles. And Stiles can't even be there like he wants to be. 

"We're accepting," Erica clarifies. "If you still want us."

"I do," Peter confirms. 

Erica beams, then throws a package of tinsel at him. "All right, time to get this place fancy as shit."

They spend hours, until Peter's place barely resembles itself. Peter doesn't have a ladder, so Stiles gets on Peter's shoulders and Erica gets on Boyd's to decorate the upper half. They all collapse on the couch and love seat after with hot chocolate, Stiles' recipe. The full moon is soon enough that Peter doesn't want to bite Erica and Boyd quite yet, but that doesn't mean they can't bond as a pack. They watch the Peanuts Christmas movies and Home Alone, everyone falling asleep in various places in the living room. Stiles is lying on Peter's chest, and sees a ghost of a smile on the man's lips as he falls asleep.

 

Stiles' dad works Christmas, but he doesn't have to go in until noon, and somehow, so does Melissa, so the McCalls and the Stilinskis do Christmas morning together, complete with brunch, presents, and the yule log station playing on the TV. When the parents leave, Scott and Stiles, both in a semi-food coma, play video games until they pass out for a holiday nap on the couch. 

They both wake up around dinner and order Chinese takeout, tipping the delivery guy handsomely for having to work on Christmas. A text comes in from Peter while they eat.

_From: Peter Hale  
Are you still interested in getting tattooed?_

To: Peter Hale  
Yeah, why?

_From: Peter Hale  
I've been working on a design you might like. If you want, I can do it before you go back to college._

Attached is a huge, extremely realistic fox and wow, Stiles hadn't been able to come up with any ideas, but this is perfect.

_From: Peter Hale  
It would be crawling down over the scar tissue, it's tail toward the top of your back. We can do a tree or nature scene on the other side if you want a full back piece. _

To: Peter Hale  
I love it! Did you design that for me?

_From: Peter Hale  
Maybe._

_From: Peter Hale  
Is that something you'd want?_

To: Peter Hale  
Yes! When?

_From: Peter Hale  
Tomorrow? I have an opening at noon._

To: Peter Hale  
I'll be there. How much will I owe you?

_From: Peter Hale  
Don't be stupid. You aren't paying me. Consider it a Christmas gift._

Stiles knows there's no point in arguing, so he just sends _Thank you_ and excitedly shows Scott the design. 

Stiles gets to the shop early the next day, in time to see Cora come out of one of the tattoo rooms with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Dude, you got it? Let me see!" Stiles demands. Cora pulls up the side of her shirt to reveal a DNA strand twisting up from her waistline up past her bra line. "Wow, I love it."

"Me too," Cora says. "But Jesus Christ, Derek wasn't exaggerating over the blow torch."

"I had to leave the room for that part," Stiles says. "You werewolves, tough as nails."

"So I hear you're going to be adding Boyd and Erica to your ranks, does that mean Boyd gets to blowtorch us, too?" Cora asks.

"Eventually, if he wants to," Peter says, coming out behind her. "You mean you don't want your favorite uncle tattooing you?"

"If I get something on my ass, absolutely not," Cora says.

_"Are_ you going to get something on your ass?" Stiles asks. 

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Stiles and Cora chat for a bit while Peter sets up. When he calls him back, Cora claps Stiles on the shoulder and wishes him luck. Stiles nods, nerves coming up. He hadn't been nervous about this at all until just now. He's not scared of needles, he just isn't a fan of the idea of being stabbed millions of times.

"You'll be fine," Peter assures him once his shirt is off and he's lying on his stomach on the table. "If Mrs. Davis can deal with it, you can."

"Mrs. Davis, the school librarian?" Stiles asks.

"She came in for a lower back tattoo. I talked her into putting the stack of books on her leg instead," Peter says.

"Mrs. Davis is sixty," Stiles says.

"That she is."

Stiles winces at the first touch of the needle, but after that, it isn't so bad. The closer he gets to the spine doesn't feel great, but he can deal with it. Peter reaches out a hand and touches Stiles' arm, drawing the pain away when it gets a little much.

"I feel like that's cheating," Stiles says. "I'm skipping the full tattoo experience."

"If I can keep you out of pain, I'm going to," Peter says, and Stiles knows nothing he say will change Peter's mind.

They take a break a few hours in and Peter makes him drink some Gatorade and eat a sandwich. 

"I never asked," Stiles says between bites. "Why'd you drop corporate law?"

"I just hated it," Peter says with a shrug. "And I realized that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough in my parents' eyes. I would never be the first born, I would never be an alpha, and I would never be Talia. A 'waste of potential', they'd call me."

"Nana and Pop Hale?" Stiles asks, incredulously. Stiles has seen them dote on their grandchildren, on Talia, but now that he thinks of it, he doesn't remember seeing them in the same room as Peter, not since he was young, before Peter left. Peter chuckles.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" he says. "I was in line to be the next pack enforcer."

"Enforcer?" 

"They do the dirty work," Peter says. "Everything the alpha can't or won't do. We get our hands bloody. It was pretty much accepted that that's who I would be, and because of that, they didn't...exactly treat me well. It's a dirty job, and they disdained me for it."

"But then you went to college," Stiles says.

"I thought being a lawyer would prove to them that I can do more with myself that just eliminate threats to the pack in quiet, bloody ways," Peter says. "But even though I aced every course I took, even though I was top of my class, it wasn't enough. I would always be a disappointment. And I wasn't happy. So I dropped out and did something that wouldn't steal my soul."

"I bet they loved that," Stiles says.

"They were going to be disappointed in me either way, might as well give them a reason," Peter says with a shrug.

He can be as nonchalant as he wants, but Stiles knows that it hurts him. Stiles doesn't care how stoic he is, no one wants to be treated that way, there's no way that didn't leave scars. Stiles carefully hugs Peter, careful of moving his back too much. Peter hugs him back as best he can.

"They're idiots, then," Stiles says. 

"I agree," Peter says. "All right, back on the table, let's get to it."

They don't finish that day, only getting about halfway through, but there's a tattoo convention in San Francisco in a few months and Peter suggests they finish there.

"So people can watch?"

"People walk around and watch, some are there to get work done, it just depends," Peter says. "It's a good way for people to get a sense of your style."

"So, you're going to be coming up?" Stiles says with a grin.

"In February, you'll be mine all weekend," Peter says.


	6. Chapter 6

Because Stiles doesn't seem to learn, he loads up on another double load of classes. If he keeps it up, and takes summer quarter, he can graduate at the end of the summer. And he is very motivated to do that. 

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass get back from vacation before Stiles, Derek, and Scott do, and apparently decided that a back-to-school rager is what was needed. Beer cans are littered around their living room and Stiles just closes his eyes briefly and wades through them to his room.

"I yelled at them last time, it's someone else's turn!" Stiles calls.

Scott being Scott tries to talk to them, but they just laugh him off. Derek's intimidation is a bit more effective, but even still, a month later there's another party at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday. Stiles is up studying anyway, but he still wants to bang their heads together like coconuts. Before Stiles can resort to violence, Scott calls Mrs. Katrakis, who comes over and loses her shit at the state of the house.

"What the hell is this?!" Mrs. Katrakis screams. She's a short, hobbled old Greek woman that could put the fear of God in anyone. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass are no different. 

"We, uh, we just had a few people over," Tweedle Dee stammers. 

"I am swimming in beer cans!" she yells. She rounds on Stiles and Derek, who are watching from the sidelines. "Did you boys have anything to do with this?"

"No, ma'am," Derek says politely.

"We actually care about school," Stiles says, sending the Tweedles a cheeky smile when Mrs. Katrakis turns away. 

Mrs. Katrakis ends up kicking out Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass (Chad and Carl, apparently), which is great for the three of them, but suddenly two portions of the rent aren't being paid anymore and unless they can get more people in the house, they're screwed. Stiles has a great scholarship that actually covers some of his housing, but it barely was enough before rent went up.

It's Scott who saves the day. A boy in his class, Isaac, recently was kicked out by his foster parents (wow, what awesome people) and had been living on friends' couches. He works and goes to school, and can manage rent barely. Mrs. Katrakis meets him and feels so bad that she drops the rent down and bam, they're solid again.

Isaac is a dream roommate. A little rude at first, but once he gets over watching his back like they're going to kick him out at any time, he relaxes, and latches on to them all like barnacles. Stiles doesn't want to pry, but he's pretty sure they're the only friends he's ever really had. He cleans up after himself, cooks, and even studies with them sometimes. It's like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass never existed.

Stiles' dad runs a background check, because of course he does, and finds that Isaac actually grew up in Beacon Valley, only a town over from Beacon Hills. He won't tell Stiles if he finds anything about why Isaac was in foster care, though. He tells Stiles it isn't any of his business unless Isaac wants to tell him. Which, fine.

"I'm thinking of getting a tattoo," Isaac says. It's a rare night when none of them have homework, and they're all just relaxing in the living room and watching a movie.

"What of?" Scott asks.

"It's a kind of family crest," Isaac says. "It reminds me of before my dad was how he was."

Derek and Stiles exchange a look.

"How was he?" Scott asks gently, because Scott is the emotional problems-whisperer.

"He hit me," Isaac says matter-of-factly, like describing events that happened to someone else. "He didn't always, it started after my brother dies. My brother drew up the family crest, so I want it to honor him and how we were a family first."

None of them know what to say to that, so Scott just hugs Isaac, Derek hands him a beer, and Stiles pats him on the back.

"My boyfriend's a tattoo artist," Stiles says and wow, he loves saying 'boyfriend'. "He's coming up next month if you want to talk to him about it."

"Really?" Isaac asks. "I thought Derek's uncle was the artist?"

"Yep," Stiles says cheerfully.

"You're dating Derek's uncle?" Isaac asks.

"Yep," Stiles says again.

Isaac looks to Derek for confirmation, who just nods. Isaac nearly falls off the couch laughing.

Classes pick up and Stiles starts living off one meal a day again. Isaac worries and makes smoothies for them all in the morning, packed with protein and vegetables. Stiles kisses him on the head and calls him the best ever. 

Stiles is running himself ragged again, with way too much on his plate, and this time it catches up with him. He catches the mother of all colds and actually misses two days of classes. He has a classmate send him the notes and wants to be stressed about it, but he feels so awful he can't even move. It feels like when he caught swine flu when that was all the rage. Body aches, chills, coughing so hard it feels like he's cracking a rib. And of course, this is the week before Peter is supposed to come up. He resigns himself to sleeping for the next two days to try to get rid of it. The next time he wakes up, though, it's to someone sitting down on his bed.

"Wha'?" Stiles asks, opening his eyes blearily as a hand touches his forehead. "Peter? What're you...Derek tattled."

"He did," Peter confirms. "Why didn't you tell me you're sick?"

"It's no big deal, humans get sick all the time," Stiles says, then punctuates it with a huge bout of coughing. 

"Uh huh," Peter says. "Stay here, I'm getting you soup."

Stiles waves his hand and rolls over. He floats in and out of consciousness until Peter's back, making him sit up and eat his soup. Stiles' headache starts receding and he looks down to see Peter's hand on his hip, black veins crawling up his arm.

"Thanks," Stiles says hoarsely.

"You're welcome," Peter says. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I have to," Stiles says. "I can graduate at the end of summer and come home."

"If you're just doing this for me - "

"I'm not," Stiles interrupts. "I'm doing this for me. I want to be done, I don't want to come back here for another year. I'm ready, okay?"

"Okay," Peter says. "But you need to be alive at the end of it."

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles mutters mulishly. Peter just shakes his head.

"Eat your soup," Peter says. "I can't finish your fox on Saturday if you'll still sick."

"Fuck," Stiles groans. "Maybe it's better anyway. Everyone would see my back and the scars if you finished at the con."

"The outline covers most of them already," Peter points out.

"I know. You just know how I get," Stiles says.

"I know, little one," Peter says, taking the empty soup bowl and running his fingers through Stiles' hair. "Go to sleep now."

Peter spends two days looking after Stiles, which gets a little embarrassing since he's pretty sure he smells absolutely disgusting, but Peter doesn't complain. When Stiles asks if Peter should be with his new betas, Peter assures them they're fine. They're sleeping in the living room and have been totally fine. No control issues to speak of.

"Really?" Stiles asks. "Your niece Madeline couldn't control herself til she was thirteen."

"It comes easier to some," Peter says.

"Or maybe you're just a really good alpha," Stiles says. Peter smiles.

Miraculously, after all the Dayquil in the world, Stiles is feeling well enough to get out of bed by Friday, and well enough on Saturday to go to the convention. Peter has a large booth with Erica and Boyd, Erica who is studying for her blood borne pathogen and CPR classes she needs to take to become a piercer, and Boyd helping Peter. There are portfolios out and art for sale, and a chair that lays flat so Stiles can be on his stomach for his tattoo.

Stiles squirms a bit, playing with the hemline of his shirt. 

"You don't have to," Peter says. "I'm sure there are people who will walk by and want something done."

"I know, but I want to," Stiles says. "I don't want to be freaked out by this anymore."

"They'll be too busy looking at my magnificent work to be bothered by measly scars anyway," Peter says.

Stiles snorts. Peter leans in and kisses Stiles soundly.

"You're brave," Peter says. "You'll be fine."

"Well now I have to, since you said that," Stiles teases. 

He takes a deep breath, then pulls his shirt off. There are no screams of horror, no one walking by stops to stare, one lady just says, "That fox's face is amazing!"

Getting tattooed in front of a crowd of people is really, really weird. Instead of just Peter to concentrate on, there are Boyd and Erica in his periphery, as well as people milling about behind him. And it's loud, way louder than the music Peter usually plays.

"You're doing well," Peter says a few hours in. "We only have a couple hours left. Do you need a break?"

"Water?" Stiles asks. 

Stiles sits up and Peter tosses him a water bottle and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Erica insisted," Peter says at Stiles' raises eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah, I did," she said. "Can I take a look?"

"Sure," Stiles says, wincing when he shrugs. 

Erica walks behind him, followed by Boyd and Stiles holds his breath. He hasn't had anyone besides Peter see his bare back since the attack, not this close up. They're silent for a few moments.

"Dude it looks so good," Erica says.

Stiles lets out a deep breath.

"Try not to sound surprised," Peter says dryly.

"I'm not _surprised_ , I'm impressed, take a compliment!" Erica says.

"It does look good," Boyd says.

"Thank you," Peter says.

By the time Peter's finished, Stiles' back is full of pain, but it's worth it because the fox looks incredible, like it's ready to jump off Stiles' skin. Dozens of people stop by to look and chat. Peter ends up with a dozen new consultations from people who are willing to drive a couple of hours for an artist they like, or who happen to live closer to Beacon Hills anyway. Peter doesn't win best photo realism tattoo at the end of the weekend, but he does get an honorable mention award with a gift certificate to a supply shop included, so that's something.

"I forgot to ask, did you meet Isaac?" Stiles asks when they're leaving.

"Your roommate? Briefly, why?" Peter asks.

"He was thinking of a tattoo, but the story behind it is kind of a touchy subject. I recommended he talk to you if he wanted," Stiles says.

"I'll talk to him when we get back," Peter promises.

Stiles puts in a movie when they get back and cuddles onto the couch with Boyd and Erica while Peter chats with Isaac in the kitchen. Scott and Derek come down, Scott looking a little confused at the couch pile, but Derek just sits on the other side of Stiles and drapes his arm over his shoulders. When Peter and Isaac walk in, Isaac also looks highly confused, but Stiles is warm and sleepy and just holds his hand out. Isaac hesitates, but ends up squishing onto the sectional between Stiles and Erica, like he isn't exactly sure he can. When he isn't yelled at, he relaxes in, looking more content than Stiles can remember. Derek gives up his place behind Stiles to Peter, sitting on the ground at their feet with Scott, and Stiles drifts off, room full of almost all of his favorite people.

Spring break comes a month and a half later and Stiles is so, so ready. His work load has calmed down, so his blood is no longer 90% caffeine and sugar, but he's still ready for a break. He'd made the executive decision to kidnap Isaac to bring back with them, since he'd had nowhere to go and Stiles wasn't about to leave him in the house alone for a week.

"I don't want to get in the way..." Isaac says when Stiles settles him into the guest room.

"You aren't. My dad is working days right now, so we'll have dinner with him and see him at night, but otherwise the week is ours, dude! Now, wanna come with me to see Peter's shop?" Stiles says

Isaac actually ends up in Peter's chair. He's had a cancellation and is able to fit Isaac in. Isaac looks pretty apprehensive, but Stiles promises it's no big deal, so Peter places the stencil, about the size of his hand, on Isaac's shoulder and gets to work.

Stiles chats with Isaac for a bit, but gets bored halfway through and walks out to chat with Boyd and Erica at the front desk.

"I'm getting ready to start training with Peter," Erica says excitedly. "Now that seizures aren't a problem, I'm not scared to hold a needle to people's delicate bits." Stiles chokes on his juice at that. "No prince Albert piercing for you then?"

"No," Stiles says, still coughing. "No way in hell."

After Peter and Isaac are done, Stiles and Isaac still hang around the shop until closing, then they all go out to dinner at a little diner around the corner. Peter and Stiles sit on one side of the large booth, with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac squished in on the other. It's a little surprising that Isaac, reserved and quiet Isaac, gets along so well with Boyd and Erica. There's a huge level of sassiness that Stiles hadn't even known existed come out. Peter looks amused, Stiles content, and all in all, it's a pretty good night.

Things get worse when they all go back to school. Stiles has only met Scott's girlfriend, Allison a handful of times, but apparently her school break is different from Scott's (ah, the quarter versus semester setup) and decided to come to visit Scott. She and Scott are in the living room, watching a movie and eating popcorn when Derek and Stiles get home from classes the week after their spring break.

"Hey guys!" Scott greets cheerfully. 

"Hey," Stiles answers. "What's up, Allison?"

She stands, all smiles and dimples, and waves.

"Hey Stiles," she says.

"And that's Derek," Stiles says, pointing over his shoulder to Derek, who has gone unnaturally still.

"Hi, I'm Allison," she says. 

"Argent?" Derek asks hoarsely. Stiles freezes.

"Yes..." Allison says slowly, eyes narrowed.

"I'm Derek Hale," Derek says. Allison looks confused for a second before her eyes widen in realization.

"Oh," she says quietly.

"What? What's wrong?" Scott asks. 

"I should go," Allison says, grabbing her jacket from the couch. "I'll call you Scott, okay?"

"Wait," Scott says, but Allison is already out the front door. Scott rounds on them. "What the hell was that?"

"You tell him," Derek says, stalking down the hall and slamming the door to his room. A second later, music starts blasting from behind the closed door.

"Stiles, what just happened?" Scott demands.

Stiles sighs and sits on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his head.

"Okay, so do you remember sophomore year when Derek went really distant for a while and was out of school for like a month?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," Scott says slowly. "He was sick, right?"

"Wrong," Stiles says. "He was 'dating' an older woman. She was 26."

"That's illegal! That's - that's statutory rape!" Scott says.

"Yep," Stiles says. "And here's the kicker, she tried to burn his house in the middle of the night, with all of them inside."

"That's horrible," Scott says, looking aghast. "But...what does that have to do with Allison?"

"The woman's name is Kate Argent," Stiles says. 

Scott's jaw drops. 

"No..." he says.

"I don't know if they're sisters, or what, but it's pretty obvious Allison knows what happened," Stiles says. "So you can see why Derek is kind of freaking out."

"But Allison didn't do that!" 

"I _know_ that, Scott. I know that Allison is basically sunshine, but can you understand Derek's reaction?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," Scott says quietly. "I don't...what do I do?" 

"Wait until Allison calls you. Wait until Derek calms down and talk to him," Stiles says. "Don't jump to any conclusions, okay?"

"Yeah," Scott says glumly. "Yeah, okay."

Scott retreats to his room and Stiles runs a hand over his face.

"Okay, okay," he mutters to himself. He tries knocking on Derek's door once, but there's no answer. "I'm bringing out the big guns!" he calls, but Derek doesn't say anything. "Fine." Stiles pulls out his phone and calls Peter.

_"Hello, Stiles,"_ Peter says. 

"Hey, I need you to call Derek."

There's silence on the line for a second.

_"Why?"_ Peter asks.

"He met Scott's girlfriend. Peter, her last name is Argent."

There's longer silence this time and Stiles actually checks his phone to make sure that Peter hasn't hung up.

_"I'll be there in two hours."_

"What? Peter, no, I just need you to call Derek and talk to him, he'll talk to you about this before me."

_"Stiles. Kate Argent tried to burn our family alive. The last I heard she was out of the country and didn't have contact with her family, but I don't want to risk it. I'm coming up."_

"We don't even know if she knows about werewolves," Stiles says.

_"Two hours,"_ Peter repeats, then hangs up.

"Well that's nice," Stiles huffs.

Scott comes barreling out of his room an hour and a half later, hopping into his shoes.

"Whoa there, buddy," Stiles says when Scott almost eats shit on the living room rug.

"Allison called," he says in a rush. "She wants to meet and talk."

"Good lucky, buddy," Stiles calls as Scott flies out the door. 

Peter's there a half hour later. He kisses Stiles, then makes a beeline for Derek's door. Stiles doesn't know what he says, but Derek lets him in, so that's something. It's tempting to eavesdrop, but the doorbell rings and Stiles figures he should be polite for once in his life.

"Coming!" he shouts. He opens the door to see a middle-aged man with day-old scruff and piercing eyes. Stiles frowns. "Can I help you?"

"Hopefully," the man says. "I'm Christopher Argent. I think you know why I'm here."

"If it's murder, we're not interested," Stiles says.

Argent's face does something weird before settling back on neutral.

"I'm just here to talk," he says.

"Right, that's why you had Allison call Scott and get him out of the house, right? Just to talk?" Stiles says.

"I'm guessing Allison was right in assuming Scott doesn't know about werewolves. I figured this conversation is one you don't want to have in front of him," Argent says.

Stiles sighs heavily, then says, "Fine. I can't guarantee they'll want to listen."

"They?" Argent asks.

"They," Peter says from behind Stiles. 

Stiles turns to see Peter, face dangerously blank except for his red eyes, standing in a way that says his entire body is coiled and ready to attack.

"Peter," Argent says. "I didn't realize you'd become an alpha."

"There was a rogue alpha when I was at college. I stopped him from killing his fourth victim because your family's hunting party couldn't pull their heads from their own asses long enough to stop harassing the local packs," Peter says. "What are you doing here, Christopher?"

"I'm just here to talk," he says, spreading his hands to show he's harmless. Yeah, Stiles doesn't believe that for a second.

"Is that why you're carrying a gun with wolfsbane bullets?" Peter asks. 

"It's in case you feel like fighting instead of talking," Argent says.

"Well you might as well come in, I'd rather you not shoot us on the front porch," Stiles says. Argent only hesitates for a second before following Stiles deeper into the house.

"What do you want?" Stiles asks when they're standing in the living room.

"I'm just here to talk," he repeats. "Kate is my sister."

"Awesome," Stiles mutters.

"We haven't had any contact with her since she left the country," Argent says.

"So since she tried to burn our house down with children asleep inside," Peter says.

Argent winces, but doesn't disagree.

"Why are you even here?" Stiles asks.

"I flew out with Allison. We're taking a vacation after she spends time with Scott," Argent says. His face does a little twist when he says Scott's name.

"Careful with that sneer, buddy," Stiles says. "You're not exactly in a position to be throwing stones at people, are you?"

"I'm just here to say you have nothing to fear from us. We follow the code, we don't condone her behavior," Argent says.

"Did you condemn it, or did you let her just run away?" Peter asks. Argent's silence says it all.

"I'm not going to hate Allison because it isn't her fault that her aunt is a psychopath. But I absolutely blame you for letting her go and probably doing this to more families," Stiles says.

"She's been keeping a low profile, we don't think - "

"That's crap," Stiles says.

"If she ever comes near, if I ever hear she's back in the country, I'm going to kill her," Peter says.

Chris Argent looks at him steadily and nods slowly.

"Good, you can leave now," Peter says. 

Stiles follows him to the door, locking it behind him. He lets out a whoosh of air and leans heavily against it.

"How's Derek?" he asks.

"Better," Peter says, peering out the blinds to make sure that Argent is driving away. "It was just startling to him, I think."

"What a goddamn mess," Stiles sighs. "Was his heartbeat steady?"

"Yes, but that could just mean that he's a really good liar," Peter says. 

"Perfect."

Peter ends up staying a few nights, unsure if he trusts Argent's word. Things are extremely awkward between Scott and Derek. Scott keeps giving him lost puppy eyes, scared that Derek is mad at him, and Derek keeps avoiding him, worried that Scott is mad at _him_. Stiles finally drags them both to the living and makes them hash it all out until they figure out that no, Derek doesn't hate Scott, no, Scott isn't mad at Derek, no, Scott won't bring Allison over. They hug it out and Stiles considers it a job well done. 

If Stiles sets up security cameras and has his dad help him get a carry permit, that's his own business.

 

It's Stiles who suggests Isaac be brought in to the pack. Isaac's been keeping into contact with Erica and Boyd and Stiles has to admit, despite initial misgivings, he's actually an all right guy. And he needs a family.

_"You bleeding heart,"_ Peter says fondly over Skype. _"The next time you're in town, we'll broach it with him. I do need to ask though. Why have you not suggested Scott?"_

"You don't like Scott," Stiles says.

Peter's eyebrows raise.

_"I've never said anything about not liking Scott,"_ Peter says cautiously.

"You didn't have to," Stiles says with a shrug. "And you don't have to, not everyone likes everyone.

_"I don't like the way he treated you all summer as a backup plan if the Argent girl wasn't free,"_ Peter growls.

Stiles shrugs. He didn't like that, either.

Finally, _finally_ , the semester is over and they can all go the fuck home. Isaac had been stressed, completely lost and confused about what to do since their lease would be up, before Stiles says, "You're coming back with us, idiot". Peter and Stiles have Boyd and Erica there when they tell Isaac about werewolves. They float it a lot gentler than when Peter had approached Boyd and Erica.

"I knew there was something different about you," Isaac says to Stiles.

"Actually, I'm 100% pure human," Stiles says.

"You're kidding," Isaac says. "Well...shit."

Isaac immediately says yes and takes the bite that night. Stiles has never actually seen the process, and winces at the cracks and shifting of bones as Isaac changes for the first time.

"Find your anchor," Peter says calmly when Isaac starts to look overwhelmed. 

Erica and Boyd stand to the side, calmly ready to step in if necessary. But Isaac seems fine, settling in without any panic.

"Dude, why are you so good at this?" Stiles asks. 

Isaac just shrugs.

Stiles has ten days between the end of the semester and the start of the summer session. He switches off spending time with Peter and his dad, staying at Peter's house most nights since his dad is working nights anyway. It's the night before Stiles is set to leave for summer session, and he's in bed with Peter, wrapped up in the other man's arms. He's playing with Peter's fingers and honestly, he can't remember feeling this content since his mother died. And he blurts it out.

"I love you," he says. 

He doesn't have time to freak out about it before Peter instantly rolls them, so he's on top of Stiles and looking down into his eyes.

"Oh, my love," Peter says. "I love you, too."

Stiles grins up at Peter and lets the man duck down and bite at his neck, placing claiming marks all over his skin.

Stiles' college career is almost over, he has a man who loves him, and a place in the world. Yeah, he thinks he'll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com) or my [ main blog](http://www.femmmefatalist.tumblr.com).


End file.
